


Dust Specks

by blairxriles



Category: One Piece
Genre: A lot of cursing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Flashbacks, Gen, I clearly love FBI agents, Organized Crime, Rosi smokes like a chimney, and he curses like a sailor, so be aware, there's a lot of cursing in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blairxriles/pseuds/blairxriles
Summary: Modern AU in which Donquixote Rosinante has spent thirteen years in witness protection and reemerges as the star witness in a trial that will take down his very own brother. A story that centers on Rosinante as he drifts between his memories and present day, searching for answers that will help him move away from his dark past and into a brighter future.
Relationships: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo & Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante
Comments: 94
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written 95% of this story to the backdrop of Matchbox Twenty's song 3am [(this specific acoustic version!)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEPsvJjGqBo)
> 
> I would recommend listening to it at least once because the influence it had on this story was insane.

It was raining again.

Rosinante’s eyes flew open as that godforsaken pitter-patter against his window increased in volume.

He stared up at the black ceiling, seeing the faint outline of his ceiling fan spinning and clenched his jaw. He blinked and leaned over to grab his phone and check the time.

**_3:02am_ **

A frustrated huff escaped his lips and Rosinante ran a hand over his face.

He just wanted some goddamn sleep.

Was that so much to ask?

He sat up and the bed creaked under his weight as he reached over to his nightstand for his cigarettes.

He fumbled around in the darkness for at least thirty seconds and proceeded to knock just about everything off the nightstand in his efforts. He pursed his lips in frustration and continued groping around in the darkness until his fingers finally brushed against the cool plastic of his lighter and the cardboard box of his cigarettes.

A sigh of relief escaped his throat once he had his cigarettes and lighter in hand, and his bed once again creaked beneath his weight as he slowly brought himself up. His chest and abdomen screamed in protest, phantom white hot pain electrocuting his body at the sudden effort.

_It wasn’t real._

Even so, it was all Rosinante could do to get himself up into a seated position. He leaned against the wall, not even minding how cold it felt against his bare shoulder and labored for breath. He then brought a hand up to his forehead and wiped away the sweat that beaded there from the sudden, but not unexpected, pain in his chest and abdomen.

Once he could somewhat breathe again, Rosinante scooted forward in his bed until he was no longer leaning against the wall and was pressed against the window instead.

He didn’t even bother turning the light on. There was no need to. Even with the curtains the city lights still leaked into his room and bathed everything in a faint yellow hue each night. And if Rosinante narrowed his eyes just right, he could see dust specks floating through the air in that faint yellow hue.

Despite what one might think, the lights and sounds of the city never bothered Rosinante. Not in the slightest. In fact, he almost thought they gave the shitty little apartment he’d been forced into some character.

But the rain?

It was the fucking rain that bothered him.

Bringing the lighter up to the cigarette in his mouth, Rosinante gave his curtains an impatient shove out of the way so he didn’t light the damn things on fire and rested his forehead against the thin glass.

He greedily sucked at the end of the cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke, savoring the taste of it on his tongue and the way it numbed his throat.

The sweet relief from the nicotine was instant and it quelled the shaking in his hands that he failed to notice when the rain first woke him up.

Then again, his hands seemed to shake a lot these days.

He took another drag of his cigarette and squeezed his eyes shut for a quick moment, clenching his hands in and out of fists.

His tired eyes soon fluttered open and he looked through the dirty window and watched a stray cat dash across the street and take refuge from the rain on the stoop of a brick apartment complex that was crumbling at the corners.

This was the fourth night in a row that it rained and he was about to fucking snap.

Sengoku took him off duty to rest before the big day. Not to become a fucking insomniac because Mother Fucking Nature had it out for him.

He continued to suck on his cigarette as the rain picked up and hit the thin glass of his little apartment window.

His fingers twitched.

How did people find this peaceful?

A sudden, burning hot pain appeared in his thigh and Rosinante jolted to see the ash from his cigarette burning the bare skin of his leg.

“ _Shit!_ ”

He bolted out of bed to swat the ash off of him and ended up stubbing his toe on the corner of his nightstand in the process.

The profanity that left his mouth would have made even Garp proud as he seethed through his teeth and sat on the edge of his bed holding his foot, all whilst still managing to keep his cigarette between his lips.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he groaned.

His chest and abdomen screamed in protest at the abrupt movement, and just like that, all pain in Rosinante’s foot was forgotten about as he doubled over and pressed both of his hands to his scarred torso and tried his hardest to just _breathe_ through the pain.

_It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real…_

This was all Mother Nature’s fucking fault.

If it hadn’t been fucking _raining_ then he never would have woken up and caused himself unnecessary pain and injury.

The rain didn’t stop.

That stupid, infuriating, _relentless_ rain continued to tap on his paper thin window and he was all of five seconds away from chugging an entire bottle of bourbon to knock himself out and finally get some sleep.

When he opened his eyes he caught sight of ash falling from his cigarette and charring his wooden floors.

He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and took one last deep drag of his cigarette that made his lungs burn with numbness and held his breath as he reached over to the nightstand and ground the cigarette into the glass ashtray.

Sleep.

He needed sleep.

That was the whole reason he was there—to rest and relax so he was ready for what was coming his way.

Well. That and the whole witness protection thing.

Rosinante groaned when the tapping on the window worsened.

He lied down on his bed, feet still on the floor from where he had just sat down after stubbing his toe, and his hand shot out to grab a pillow and press it over his face.

With any luck, the oxygen deprivation would make him pass out.

* * *

**_17 years ago_ **

The sun shown high above twenty-two year old Rosinante’s head, baking him in an uncomfortable heat as he stood on the white sand beach. The waves crested not far off and swells of water and sea-foam occasionally lapped at his ankles where he stood barefoot, waiting for him.

Rosinante could hear Sengoku’s gravelly voice in the back of his head. It repeated the plan, offered him an out if he really needed it, and warned him to be careful with the insistence of a father.

Despite knowing the very strong likelihood that he could be killed on the spot, Rosinante was not scared.

How could he be? He stood on a beautiful beach beneath a high sun and blue sky as waves crashed ahead of him.

If he had to pick a place to die, this would be it.

He’d lived a decent life. A good life.

He had Sengoku, the Bureau, and plenty of memories that were filled with laughter, love (both tough love and complete and utter unconditional love), lessons, adventures, and more than his fair share of heartbreak and pain.

His life had been full and he felt he could die without regrets.

Well. Almost.

If he died before attempting what he was currently attempting, then yes. He would die with one regret.

Not trying to stop his brother.

But if this was as far as Rosinante was ever going to get? Then at least he could say he tried.

“I didn’t believe them when they told me.”

Rosinante did not immediately turn around at the sound of the voice. Instead, he reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette and a lighter.

He took his first puff of the cigarette and pivoted on his heel to see none other than the monster that was his older brother standing before him.

The one and only Donquixote Doflamingo.

He was a massive, looming figure made of pink feathers, bronzed skin, blond hair, and angular features. Despite the heat and humidity of the beach and the way he left his dress shirt completely unbuttoned, he still draped that feathered coat over his shoulders.

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Rosinante said. He winced against the harsh sunlight and offered his brother a sheepish grin.

Doffy did not return it.

That same harsh sunlight glinted off of those rose-tinted glasses as his brother regarded him.

“I looked for you,” Doffy said lowly. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his white dress pants and cocked his head to the side, a grin suddenly slithering onto his face. “Where on Earth could you have gone, Little Brother?”

Rosinante took another drag of his cigarette.

“I don’t like talking about it,” he said, smoke peppering his words as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. “I’m here now. Isn’t that enough, Doffy?”

Rosinante couldn’t see his brother’s eyes, but he could imagine those cold irises flickering and staring him down, reading his body language with laser-like focus.

“…It’s enough. For now.”

And it had been that simple.

A mere declaration from Doflamingo that Rosinante was good to join the Family and that was it. He was brought into one of the most infamous crime organizations the world had to offer without so much as a second thought.

Rosinante didn’t know why it had been so easy. He just assumed that somewhere in Doffy’s blood-tinged memories there was some sort of residual fondness for his brother, that or Doffy had just acted on a whim. But whatever it was, Rosinante knew better than to question it.

Especially when within the first few weeks his brother offered to make him an elite executive.

“You’re sure?” Rosinante asked when Doffy made the offer.

“Who better to become the new Corazón than my own flesh and blood? A piece of my own heart?” Doffy responded grinning—always grinning.

Rosinante’s fingers twitched as they tapped ash from his cigarette.

“All right,” he said.

“You don’t want the position?” Doffy pressed, still with that grin on his face.

“I never said that,” Rosinante replied easily. He looked out the window in Doffy’s small office and listened as rain hit the glass.

Doffy’s office was small. It was just a little room in the warehouse they were squatting in while the Family navigated between different locations. The room was on the third floor, had wooden floors that squeaked in protest when anyone walked on them, and only two small windows against the far wall.

Usually, Rosinante could see dust specks floating through the air when the sun’s rays would trickle in through those windows, but not today.

Not with the rain.

“Hm,” Doffy hummed before a giggle came from him.

The sound made Rosinante suck hard enough on his cigarette that he found himself needing an immediate replacement.

“Think you have the stomach for it?” Doffy asked with that trademark grin.

Did he have the stomach for it?

Rosinante wasn’t sure. His knowledge of the Family was limited to what was reported in the newspapers and what intel Sengoku could gather with the help of people like Tsuru.

He knew his brother ran weapons and drugs and even dabbled a little bit in gambling with acts such as fixing races and other competitions. He also knew that his brother had no problem with getting his hands dirty or making his subordinates get their hands dirty. None of that alarmed Rosinante.

What alarmed Rosinante was the set in his brother’s shoulders and jaw.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rosinante replied.

His brother’s grin grew until it stretched from ear to ear, just in time for the rain to slow and for the sun to stream in through the dirty glass and fall just across Doffy’s glasses.

Rosinante couldn’t see his eyes though.

Only dust specks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because ofc I'm writing another Modern AU. That's all I friggen do.
> 
> I've been rereading Dressrosa so I have a lot of feelings right now.
> 
> This isn't going to be as long as my other fics. Only 10 chapters in total! I just really wanted to take a crack at writing these characters in this type of setting. Drop a comment with any and all feedback! It is BEYOND appreciated!!
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr! [Come say hi!](https://bxriles.tumblr.com/#ask-trigger)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that there is a substantial amount of cursing in this story and that it only gets worse with each chapter. I know I include a lot of profanity in my fics, but this one especially. So if that's something that bothers you, just be aware and maybe click off. (Because it really does only get worse)

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

Rosinante groaned and drew his pillow away from his face. His mouth was dry and tasted of old cigarettes, his chest was absolutely on fire, and there was a horrible kink in his lower back from where he passed out the night before with his legs still draped over the side of the bed.

“Get up you brat before I shove my foot so far up your ass that you’ll be tasting my toes ’til Christmas!”

Rosinante yelped and sat up, just about throwing his neck out in the process.

Someone was in the apartment.

Shit, shit, _shit!_

Not good. Not good _at all._

He must have forgotten to lock his door again and assuming he made it out of this alive, Sengoku was going to absolutely slaughter him for being so forgetful.

Rosinante blinked a dozen times until the four white walls of his bedroom came into focus and waited with bated breath for the inevitable moment when a head of blond hair accompanied by a fluffy pink coat came into focus.

Only it didn’t.

“Garp,” Rosinante croaked.

The familiar face of Monkey D. Garp came into focus, all silver hair, massive shoulders, with a scar across his eyebrow to match.

He had his arms crossed and grinned from ear to ear at where Rosinante was still sitting in bed and staring at the man, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

“You didn’t lock the door, Punk. What if that crazy brother of yours found you? You’d be ripped into so many pieces that we wouldn’t be able to identify the remains!” he barked.

Rosinante rubbed a hand over his sweaty face and gave a heavy sigh.

“Right,” he said breathlessly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. If you’re gonna apologize to someone for being a careless fool then it’d better be Sengoku,” he said.

Garp’s eyes fell away from Rosinante’s face and instead flickered across the scarred and mottled flesh of his chest and abdomen. Rosinante didn’t bother looking down because he knew it was bad.

Thirteen years ago his torso had been stamped with a constellation of deep purple and red bruises, all of which had been accompanied by harsh streaks of burst blood vessels, ripped, shiny flesh that was healing, and deep scars from countless incisions where a cardiothoracic surgeon frantically tried to save his life.

Over a decade later and the constellation of bruises may have disappeared, but the scars did not and his body was still a mess of uneven, warped, pale skin.

Garp’s brows knit together and his lips pursed into a tight line. There was no effort on his part to try and hide the scrutiny in his gaze and Rosinante sighed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sitting up straighter and cracking his back in the process.

“What am I doing here?” Garp repeated. He narrowed his eyes and reached forward to smack Rosinante upside the head hard enough to give him an instant headache. “I’m here to escort you to the office, you little punk!”

Rosinante winced and rubbed the back of his head. It was a monumental task to bite back the comment on the top of his lungs that desperately wanted to remind Garp he was not a little punk anymore and was, in fact, one year shy of goddamn _forty,_ but he managed.

“What time is it?”

“Time for you to get your ass up and get ready! Let’s go! I’ve seen dead grandmothers move faster than you!”

Realization dawned on him, but Rosinante glowered and snapped into action anyway, years of FBI training taking over for him.

He shouldered his way around Garp and headed toward the bathroom.

The inner-city apartment he’d been forced into was small. It was only a few hundred square feet of creaky wooden floors, smoked stained ceilings, and ugly beige walls.

There was hardly any separation between rooms either. The bedroom was separated from the living room by a narrow doorway he could hardly fit through, the bathroom was adjacent to the bedroom, and the kitchen wasn’t separated from the living room at all. It was simply an extension that had different flooring.

Rosinante could probably cross the entire apartment in only five or six strides.

And it took him even fewer strides to reach the bathroom and lock himself inside.

That phantom sting was in his chest again, a sharp reminder of what was to come. He winced and rubbed his sternum as he pressed his bare back into the cool wooden door.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t—

“Let’s _go!_ ” Garp shouted from the other side of the door.

Rosinante sucked a sharp breath in through his nose and straightened up. He made his way over to the shower, ducked into the stream of lukewarm water, washing his body, face, and hair as quickly as he could without slipping and snapping his damn neck.

Only two more days until it was over. All the waiting, looking over his shoulder, holding his breath and ducking into alleyways when he thought he saw glimpses of a blond man in pink clothing.

Just two more days.

He could do anything for two days.

When he was done with his shower he went through the motions of towel drying his hair and getting dressed, only stumbling once when he stepped into his pants, and finally reemerged in a pair of light slacks and a button-down.

“It’s about damn time,” Garp grunted from where he sat on the small brown sofa in the middle of Rosinante’s living room (if you could even call it that).

“Yeah, yeah,” Rosinante said. He brushed his blond hair away from his eyes, stepped into a pair of shoes by the front door, and nodded at Garp. “Let’s go. The sooner this is over the better.”

They got to Garp’s car (which was parked illegally on Rosinante’s street by the way, not that the old man seemed to give a shit) and Rosinante wasted no time in digging out his cigarettes and lighting up the instant his hands started to tremble.

“Should you really be smoking with the state of your lungs?” Garp asked, abruptly pulling out and cutting someone off behind him.

Rosinante looked in the side mirror at where the driver of the car behind them honked and flipped their middle finger.

“My lungs are fine,” Rosinante said. He cracked the window and watched the trails of white smoke escape the vehicle.

“Oh yeah? Funny. For some reason, I distinctly remember several surgeons telling you that your lungs might never recover and…”

The trembling in Rosinante’s hands wouldn’t stop.

He bit down on his cigarette and clenched them in and out of fists multiple times. That usually helped when the nicotine didn’t.

He unfurled his fingers and watched as his scarred hands continued to shake.

He took a hard drag of the cigarette and curled his fingers back in towards his palms.

“Hey! You listenin’ to me?” Garp pressed.

“Huh?” Rosinante muttered, looking away from his hands.

Garp shot him a look from the driver’s seat. Corner of his lips tugged down, shoulders pulled taut, and brows knit together in… What was that? Sympathy? No, that wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was concern or pity.

Probably pity.

“You’re gonna burn yourself,” Garp said.

There was a softness in the man’s voice, one that blunted its usual harsh edge and one that, for some reason, made Rosinante hate himself just a little bit more.

Despite Garp’s warning, Rosinante failed to notice the accumulating ash at the end of his cigarette. He’d been too caught up in trying to decipher that look on Garp’s face and the quivering in his hands.

And by the time he thought to pull the cigarette from his mouth and tap the excess ash off, it was too late and sure enough, the smoking pile of embers landed right on top of his left hand, searing it with a glow.

“Goddamnit!”

* * *

**_ 16 years ago _ ** ****

“Idiot,” Doffy muttered under his breath after Rosinante just burned himself yet again on the ash from his cigarette. Rosinante cursed and shook the embers from his hand in a fit. He then rubbed the burned patch of skin against his chest.

The sound of giggles from the other end of the card room filled his ears. He shot a glance down the dimly lit room to see Baby 5 and Buffalo attempting to stifle their snickers as they served drinks to Trebol and Diamante.

It had been just over one year since Rosinante joined the Donquixote Family as an undercover agent and he still had a hard time accepting his brother’s decision to bring children into the Family.

Even Sengoku had been surprised when Rosinante told him. Though the only guidance on the subject the man offered was to do everything in his power to prevent the little brats from staying.

And Rosinante tried, okay? He really did.

As much as it pained him, he shouted at the kids, glared daggers at them, kicked them when they were in his way, and went as far as to beat them when they were training. He did all he could to make their lives absolute living hells so they would leave before it was too late.

And a lot of good it did him.

All it did was earn him the reputation as someone who despised kids, and Rosinante was fairly certain Trebol noticed and that was the reason why he brought even more children into the hellscape that was the Family.

Because not long after Baby 5 and Buffalo showed up, an actual fucking _baby_ was brought to the clubhouse.

Dellinger. A little thing that wasn’t even a year old with a head of straw blond hair and a bottle in his mouth.

And Sengoku be damned because Rosinante couldn’t beat a fucking _baby_ , okay? He wouldn’t. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he ended up there.

Beating Baby 5 and Buffalo had been hard enough. Buffalo didn’t usually tear up until the beating ended and he was out of sight. But Baby 5 cried the entire time and apologized and promised to make herself more useful so she wouldn’t get beat again.

It made Rosinante sick to his stomach. So much so that after the first time, he drank such an excessive amount of bourbon that he puked his guts up into the powder room sink at 3 am.

So when Doffy came back to the clubhouse one day with little baby Dellinger in tow? He just gritted his teeth and didn’t say a word on the matter.

Besides, there had been no point in giving Trebol more ammunition. The sick fuck already had more than enough of that to use against him.

“Corazón,” Doffy said. “I have a job for you.”

Rosinante’s eyes flickered to his brother’s glasses.

“All right,” he said after a sip of bourbon, pain in his hand forgotten.

“Ibusu down South, the one that moves the guns. You know him, right?” Doffy asked. Rosinante indicated that he did and let his brother continue. “Well, he supposedly lost an entire fucking shipment.”

Rosinante’s eyes caught the way Doffy’s fingers clenched around his wine glass.

“How?” he asked, crossing one leg over the other.

“He says that the cops caught him but I have sources that say otherwise, sources that say he’s stealing from me.”

Rosinante tucked his face into the rim of his glass and continued to sip on his bourbon.

“As I’m sure you know, that’s a problem. So I need you to go see him. Make sure everything is in order and make sure he understands the nature of our agreement,” Doffy took a sip of wine and his long fingers curled into the armrest of his chair. “Make sure he understands what exactly he’s done wrong.”

Ah.

So Doffy was pissed off and wanted Rosinante to go be the muscle.

Not the first time he was given such an assignment. Certainly not the last either.

He was fine with it, mainly because there was some sick part of Rosinante that liked the fighting. He tried to tell himself it was because the fights made him feel like all that FBI training wasn’t going to waste, made him feel like he was actually using those skills, and he swore that it _wasn’t_ because there was some burning anger deep in his gut.

Tried to at least.

But for now, he could live with being the muscle.

And that was stupid, and Rosinante knew that was stupid because “being the muscle” was a slippery slope and soon his brother would expect him to come home with more than just blood on his knuckles.

Soon, his brother would expect him to come home with blood on his hands.

Rosinante took another sip of bourbon and nodded along with his brother’s words. He then cleared his throat and said a calm, “I can do that.”

That trademark nasty grin spread across his brother’s face and he inclined his head just enough that the muted light from the lamp reflected off his glasses.

“Perfect. Oh, and make sure he knows there are consequences.”

Rosinante nodded again and chose to not say anything because he knew his brother wasn’t quite finished. There would be one more line. There was always one more line. One more comment to add to the gravitas of the situation because that was Doffy’s style. Bloodthirsty and over the top.

“And make sure those consequences are paid.”

Rosinante did.

He traveled down South where Ibusu conducted his business out of a warehouse converted into a garage and got right to the point. The man was obviously surprised to see an executive of the Donquixote Family and tried his best to hide it, though he wasn’t very good at it.

“You look so much like Joker, what with your fair coloring and how tall you both are,” Ibusu remarked with a smile as sweat beaded on his forehead. “I don’t suppose you two are related. Are you, Corazón?”

Rosinante didn’t answer him. If Ibusu couldn’t put two and two together then that was his problem.

“Will Señor Pink be joining us? He’s usually the one who comes to pick up the goods,” Ibusu asked when Rosinante just stared at him.

Rosinante didn’t take his eyes off Ibusu. He put a cigarette to his lips and took his time lighting it, carefully wrapping himself in the cloak of the persona that was Corazón and abandoning Rosinante.

“No,” he drawled.

Ibusu paled.

Corazón breathed in smoke and looked around the warehouse-made-garage with an appreciative gesture of his hand.

“Nice place you got,” he said.

A bead of sweat slid down Ibusu’s temple and dripped off his chin.

“Thank you. Joker helped convert the space himself.”

Corazón just smirked. He took lazy strides around the space, outwardly admiring the high ceilings, the concrete floor, and some of the cars that were parked within it.

There was a brand new Cadillac Escalade that caught his eye. A black one with sparkling rims that shined in the overhead white lights.

Corazón leaned his back against the driver’s door and nodded at Ibusu.

“Tell me about this run in you had with the cops,” he said.

Ibusu cleared his throat and his eyes flashed over the Escalade Corazón leaned against.

“Which one?”

“The one that ended with an entire shipment of guns being confiscated,” Corazón deadpanned, smirk immediately fading into a cold stare.

He listened as Ibusu strung some rehearsed story together. He feigned interest at first, but when the man stumbled over his words and started backtracking about how the reason he wasn’t arrested was because the cops “only wanted the guns and not the transporters”, he tuned out the rest of the frantic explanation and pushed himself away from the Escalade.

He flicked cigarette ash onto the hood of the car as Ibusu dug himself a deeper hole. He then casually walked over to a standing red toolbox against the wall and dug through the drawers until he found a monkey wrench.

“Corazón, um. What are you—”

Corazón calmly walked right back to the Escalade, pulled the arm with the monkey wrench over his shoulder and brought it down so the wrench went straight into the car’s windshield.

The entire thing shattered, cracks splintering out in spiderwebs from the place of impact all the way over to the passenger’s side.

When Corazón pulled the wrench out, chunks of glass came out with it. They glimmered in the light and tumbled down the front of the windshield.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Ibusu shouted, face ashen and eyes the size of coins.

“Stop bullshittin’ me,” Corazón said with his cigarette between his teeth. He pointed the wrench at Ibusu and said, “you stole those guns from Joker.”

He watched Ibusu’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I wouldn’t… I would never steal from Joker,” he stammered.

Corazón’s eyebrows arched.

“You know what happens to people who get on his bad side, don’t you?”

He could see the exact moment the gravity of the situation dawned on Ibusu. Another bead of sweat dripped off the man’s chin, he licked his chapped lips, and his pupils dilated until the irises disappeared completely.

“If you could just give me a second chance. I swear I won’t—”

Corazón didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. He strolled right up to him, pulled his arm back a second time, and swung the wrench down so it connected with the side of Ibusu’s left knee.

A yelp escaped the back of his throat, and he crumpled into a ball on the floor while he twitched in pain.

Corazón turned away just long enough to throw the wrench back at the Escalade and watch it shatter the driver’s window. He then turned back to Ibusu and gripped his collar in his scarred hands.

“You stole from Joker and then you lied to me when I asked about it. You’re gonna have to pay for that,” he said in a low voice. Cigarette ash and flecks of spit flew in Ibusu’s horrified face and the man whimpered.

“Please—”

Corazón didn’t let him finish.

He pulled one hand back into a fist and started whaling on him.

Bone connected with flesh and cartilage. Blood coated his knuckles and made the skin slick. Cries for mercy echoed from the ceiling.

Corazón only saw a haze of red with each swing, his vision blurred while he acted on some primal instinct.

And then his cigarette fell from between his teeth and it was over.

Ibusu was a half-conscious, whimpering mess beneath him and the job was done.

Corazón straightened up and wiped something wet from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Joker is happy to give you another chance after today’s lesson. Understood?” he asked, though the voice sounded foreign to him. Almost sounded like it came from someone else’s throat.

Ibusu made some sort of gasp or moan or cry, but he managed to give a weak nod before he rested his head back on the floor.

And just like that, the job was done and Rosinante stripped away the Corazón persona and took brisk steps out of the garage.

There was a metallic taste on his tongue, something sharp that reminded him of copper.

It made him wince, so he put a fresh cigarette between his lips and smoked an entire pack on his way back to the Donquixote Family clubhouse.

It was less than a day’s drive back, but it was well after dark when he arrived and by then, the pain in Rosinante’s bruised knuckles started to register and there was an overwhelming desire to shower so he could rid himself of the blood. He also desperately wanted to brush his damn teeth so he wouldn’t have to endure the taste of metal and nicotine on his tongue any longer.

So yeah. It was safe to say he was in a piss poor mood when he arrived at the clubhouse.

“Move it, Brat,” Rosinante grunted as he gave Buffalo a half-hearted kick in the ribs when he greeted him at the door.

“Cora is back!” a child’s voice—Baby 5’s voice—announced loud enough that the entire fucking Family probably heard it.

A headache appeared in his temples and he was pretty sure he actually growled when someone called his name from the card room.

Unfortunately, Rosinante failed to identify who exactly called for him, and on the off chance that it was Doffy, he had to go. It wasn’t like he could ignore his brother without risk of great bodily harm.

He cursed under his breath and lit up another cigarette, sauntering down the hall into the card room.

“What?” he snapped between breaths of tobacco.

The card room was filled with too many fucking people. Doffy, Trebol, Diamante, Pica, Jora, all the fucking kids, and anyone else with a goddamn pulse. The card room was big enough. It was wide and long and filled with enough couches and tables and other necessities, but it felt cramped with all the bodies filling the space.

He heard a chorus of laughter from the higher-ups and Rosinante took such a harsh drag from his cigarette that he had half the mind to think he already burned the thing down to the filter.

“I told you to teach the guy a lesson, Corazón. Not kill him,” Doffy said with amused laughter. When he laughed, everyone did.

Everyone except Rosinante.

“I handled it,” was all Rosinante grunted, sucking on his cigarette fast enough to leave him only moments away from needing a fresh one.

“I can see that,” Doffy said. He grinned and waved Rosinante forward.

Oh yeah. He definitely needed that second cigarette.

Only when he reached for it, he found that his box was empty.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he walked deeper into the room.

“Baby 5, get Corazón a cigarette,” Doffy said.

At the sound of an order, the little girl’s entire disposition lifted and she grinned from ear to ear, damn near bouncing up and down on her way out.

Rosinante collapsed on the velvet chaise beside Doffy and sucked on his cigarette until there was nothing left to burn and the embers fell to the floor in rapid succession.

“Don’t set my clubhouse on fire,” Doffy remarked. His hand shot out and plucked the cigarette filter right from Rosinante’s lips.

Rosinante just looked at his brother and proceeded to grind his foot into the embers that charred the floor.

“What do you need?” he asked. He ignored everyone else in the room and focused only on his brother.

“I’ve got another job for you,” Doffy started.

A small figure with a head of black hair then materialized in Rosinante’s peripheral vision and he looked down at Baby 5.

She had a great big smile on her face, one that could light up the whole clubhouse.

It broke his heart.

“Here you go, Cora!” she said. She held up a silver platter with a cigarette, ashtray, and lighter on it. And she was positively _giddy_ with delight.

He wanted to pat her on the head or straighten the ribbon in her hair. He wanted to thank her with a kind smile. He wanted to give her at least some of the parental affection she so obviously craved.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do something that encouraged her to stay.

So instead, he shot her a glare that had her shrinking back from him with eyes that widened in fear once he snatched everything from the tray.

He looked away from her, intending on giving Doffy his undivided attention but immediately lost focus when his eyes landed on a new, unfamiliar figure.

A small thing like Baby 5.

A sickly thin kid with a white hat and hollow eyes.

Rosinante couldn’t help it when he scoffed and looked back at his brother.

“What the fuck is it with all the goddamn _kids_ , Doffy? What is this? A fucking daycare? A fucking orphanage? Are we just taking in any fucking kid that looks in our direction?” he demanded. He looked back at the kid standing against the wall with Baby 5 and Buffalo. “You think this is fun, Brat? Get the fuck out of here before I throw you out myself!”

There was another chorus of laughter from Doffy and his stupid fucking followers, and Rosinante saw red again.

“Relax!” Doffy said with a grin that Rosinante could _hear_. He chuckled and reached an arm out, gesturing for the kid to join them.

He did, although it was clearly the last thing he wanted to do.

The boy stood beside Doffy, just beneath the standing lamp that cast a warm light on him and filled the empty space above his head with dust specks.

“This here is Law. He’s going to be particularly useful to us one day. Why don’t you tell Corazón what you told me?”

There was a beat of hesitation. And then, “…I want to kill them all. Everyone. Towns, houses, people. I hate them all.”

Rosinante stared at the kid, cigarette forgotten at the hateful words.

He was too skinny and his eyes were so, _so_ tired. Too tired for a child’s.

But it wasn’t the kid’s eyes that grabbed the bulk of Rosinante’s attention. It was the pale blotches that peppered his arms and top of his chest. They were clearly from some sort of disease, and judging from the brat’s complete and utter lack of any body fat at all, it was wreaking absolute havoc on his system.

Wow.

His brother, in all his useless fucking wisdom, brought a sick, _dying_ child into the Family all because he was filled with the same type of rage and hatred that filled Doffy at that age? All because he shared a rage that Doffy _still_ harbored as an adult?

His brother really was a monster, wasn’t he?

The dust specks floated around Law’s head while they sized each other up and that was when Rosinante decided he had enough for one night because he was too goddamn close to snapping and ruining everything.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Rosinante deadpanned.

“Corazón, come on now,” Doffy said with a chuckle.

Rosinante decided that Doffy was in a good enough mood that he could get away with ignoring him, so he went to make his exit.

But not before his hand shot out to give Law a forceful shove in the center of his chest, a shove that resulted in the kid stumbling backward into the lamp and falling to the floor, taking the lamp with him and shattering the lightbulb.

More laughter.

Rosinante ignored the way it rang in his ears and headed straight for the showers to wash the blood from his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying a new thing with the italics because ya. It was a lot haha
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment! It's so much more appreciated than y'all will ever know!(:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is cool and all but I'm really excited for the next one. It's probably my favorite of this work.
> 
> DA - district attorney  
> ADA - assistant district attorney

Rosinante was tired of attorneys.

As an FBI agent, he had his fair share of encounters with them. He worked with the DA and defense attorneys regularly when he first joined the Bureau. In fact, there was once a time where he used to like attorneys and called some of them friends.

But now that he was coming out of witness protection after thirteen years for the sole purpose of being the star witness in his brother’s trial?

He was sick of them.

Vultures. Every last one of them. Defense attorneys and the DA included.

“I really think you should take this seriously, Rosinante. Even if everything goes according to plan and Doflamingo is shoved away in Impel Down, there’s a pretty good chance that some of his subordinates will come after you,” Kuzan, the lead prosecutor, explained.

Rosinante ground his third cigarette into the ashtray and looked across the conference table.

They were at the office downtown and from Rosinante’s understanding, just about every single attorney and associate was working on Doffy’s case.

At least it seemed that way with the frantic air in the office.

Even in the isolated conference room with the bare walls, old furniture, and damaged ceiling, he still felt that palpable, frantic energy everywhere.

“They’ll try to come after me no matter what I do,” Rosinante replied. “It doesn’t matter if I’m physically there or if I’m on video. When they find out I’m alive, they’ll come for me. It is what it is. The least I can do is show up and _try_ to make sure my brother is locked away for good.”

He reclined further into his chair and rubbed his sternum with the back of his thumb.

He already wanted to smoke again but refrained when Sengoku shot him a look from over the top of his glasses.

Instead of lighting up, Rosinante folded his hands in his lap and clenched them just in case they started shaking.

“Rosi,” Sengoku said. Rosinante looked at him through his bangs and pursed his lips together.

“Hm?”

“I think you should listen to Kuzan,” he said. “All of the other key witnesses have already testified. You’re the only one left and because of your situation, no one will hold it against you if you aren’t physically there. We have all the paperwork ready and the judge has already issued the protective order.”

Rosinante could feel one of his brows arch.

The lawyers couldn’t seem to agree on whether or not they wanted him there in the court room to deliver his testimony. Some said no way in hell, that it was too dangerous and the benefits weren’t worth it. Especially not when they would have to go over the criminal acts Rosinante performed while in the Family. And there was no shortage there.

But the others, like the DA Akainu, said his physical presence was absolutely required and that his sheer existence would be enough to shake the jury. That it would be enough to force a conviction and so much more.

Rosinante, along with everyone else, knew where he personally fell on that particular debate. Of course he wanted to be there in person. Because honestly, why else would he be there, sitting in the conference room, getting grilled by attorney after attorney?

His eyes flashed to a quiet, young man a few seats down from Kuzan. He had blond hair, a scar over his left eye, and dressed even better than the senior associates and the ADA. Rosinante had seen him at just about every single meeting and nodded in acknowledgment when the young man’s eyes met his.

“What do _you_ think?” Rosinante asked.

The young man blinked and looked over both his left and right shoulder before he pointed to himself.

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh. I’m… I’m just a second year. You really shouldn’t w—”

Rosinante cut him off before he could doubt himself any further.

“You’ve been at every single one of my meetings. You've asked good questions. You've taken thorough notes. You've masked your reactions beautifully. I can tell that you’ve seen everything and no one can convince me otherwise. Reading people like you is what I’m good at. Hell, I’d wager that you’ve got a better grasp of how truly _evil_ my brother is than anyone else in this room. So let’s hear it, Kid. I want to know what _you_ think,” Rosinante said as easily as breathing.

He heard the sounds of Kuzan and Sengoku sighing, but neither of them interjected. They both knew better than to try and change Rosinante’s mind once he made it up. Because like it or not, he was still as stubborn as his brother.

“Well,” the young man started. He adjusted his blue collar and squared his shoulders with impeccable posture. “Personally, I think your physical presence in court would be best. After yesterday’s testimonies, I think that seeing you there in the flesh would have a profound impact on the jury. I’m a little worried that they didn’t fully process Dr. Trafalgar’s testimony because he was exempt from having to discuss the events of Minion Island. So it makes sense if you’re there to…”

Rosinante didn’t hear the rest of his words. They all buzzed into incoherent babbling the instant that name left the young associate’s mouth.

 _Trafalgar_.

He swallowed back the dryness in his throat.

“Dr. Trafalgar?” he croaked.

“…Trafalgar Law,” the associate said very, very softly. Like he only just then realized the weight of his words. Like he only just then realized his error.

Rosinante didn’t know that Law was involved in this. He didn’t know that Law was being forced to relive those awful memories in front of an entire goddamn courtroom. He didn’t know. He didn’t—

“Rosi,” Sengoku said.

Rosinante’s eyes flashed to Sengoku’s dark ones.

“Why?” he asked softer than a whisper.

Thankfully, Sengoku understood his question and answered right away.

“Doflamingo’s attorney subpoenaed him, so now he’s involved,” Sengoku replied. His voice was even, the same way it had been when Rosinante met him all those years ago as a filthy, crying child that was drenched in rainwater.

But that didn’t make it any easier to process.

“Oh,” he said.

His hands trembled so badly that not even clenching them helped and a sharp sting tugged at the back of his sternum and around his ribs.

He could see Sengoku in his peripheral vision, watching him. His face, his shoulders, his hands. Watching everything.

“Let’s take a break,” Sengoku said suddenly.

There was a pause. And then another.

Then one more.

“Rosi,” Sengoku’s voice was at his ear and hand was on his shoulder. “It’s time for a smoke.”

Rosinante exhaled and pushed himself away from the table.

Yes. Yes, a cigarette would be perfect.

He didn’t even wait until they were outside and lit the damn thing on the way out of the office.

Sweet, beautiful tobacco and nicotine coated his tongue and lungs and Rosinante closed his eyes to savor it.

His hands still quaked but once they stood outside in the muggy air and he could freely breathe in the stench of the city and bitterness of the cigarette, they trembled a little less.

“I think that giving your testimony via video is the best—”

“How is he?” Rosinante cut Sengoku off before the lecture could begin.

A taxi whizzed by them and the smell of gasoline flooded his nostrils.

“Who?” Sengoku asked.

Rosinante gave a hollow laugh. It rang in his own ears but echoed uselessly off the buildings and was smothered by the city’s chaotic noise before it could ever reach Sengoku.

“Law,” Rosinante said. His eyes met Sengoku’s as a silent _dare_ to play stupid and act like he had no idea.

Sengoku crossed his arms over his hulking chest. The corner of his lips tugged downward just as another taxi drove by.

“You know we can’t do this,” Sengoku said. “He’s a surgeon these days and a hostile witness for your brother. That’s all the information I can give you.”

Rosinante took such a harsh, long drag from the cigarette that the smoke actually almost burned his lungs on the way down, not unlike the way it had when he first picked up the habit.

Fucking hell. Thirteen years and Rosinante still desperately ached to know about the angry little boy he’d been willing to die for. Thirteen miserable years of witness protection and he still was given almost _nothing_ to work with.

“Does he know I’m alive?” Rosinante asked. Surely, that had to be something Sengoku could give him.

Sengoku gave an exhausted sigh and adjusted his circular glasses in a way that would have made the sunlight glint off of them had it not been hidden by the clouds.

“No. It’s to my understanding that he believes your testimony is an old video from before the incident,” he answered.

Rosinante laughed.

It was a harsh, cold sound that littered the air between them with white smoke. It was a sound that Rosinante knew he picked up from his brother but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“You don’t want me to testify in person because Law believes that I’m dead and you’re all worried about what his reaction could do to the case,” he said.

Sengoku adjusted his glasses again but he didn’t look away.

“Come on. Say it. I’m almost forty years old. I can take it,” Rosinante urged.

He took one final drag of the cigarette and threw the filter onto the concrete sidewalk and ground his foot into it until the damn thing frayed at the edges.

“That’s only one reason,” Sengoku admitted.

Rosinante snorted, “because you all know Law would turn hostile for you if he found out that I was actually alive all these years and you kept that knowledge from him.”

Sengoku took his time responding. He always did when something hit particularly close to home and Rosinante knew it.

It was why he shook his head and painfully pressed his back against the brick building, waiting for a response that would likely only upset him more.

“Fine. That is a concern everyone has. But you should think about the boy, Rosi. You should think about what that information could do to him,” Sengoku said.

Rosinante’s eyes flashed to Sengoku’s in a fraction of a second.

“Thinking about that boy is the _only_ thing I do,” he said, voice low.

“And thinking about _you_ is the only thing _I_ do, you damn brat,” Sengoku retorted. He reached forward and swatted Rosinante on the side of his head the same way Garp had done that morning. “If you thought you lost me in some traumatic incident from your childhood and if it took you over a decade to accept my death, then I would be very hesitant to come back into your life. It’s hell to lose someone you love once. I can only imagine what twice would be like.”

Rosinante’s mouth felt dry again and the bitterness from the already smoked cigarette did not help.

Sengoku’s words struck home and that sharp tug reappeared in his sternum.

It burned worse than the embers of his cigarette. Burned worse than the freezing snows of Minion Island.

The thought never even crossed his mind.

Not once.

“Thirteen years is a long time, Rosi. It’s a lifetime for some,” Sengoku said. His voice had a softer edge, something warm and paternal.

“I—” his throat closed up.

Then there was a raindrop on his cheek. Another on his forehead. More on his shoulder.

It was followed by a rumble of thunder and suddenly more rain fell from the sky and Sengoku’s hand was on his elbow, ushering him back inside the office before they could be soaked to the core.

He thought that Sengoku maybe said his name. Maybe asked if he was listening or if he was still there.

Rosinante couldn’t hear him though.

He could only hear the sound of rain against the windows.

* * *

**_15 years ago_ ** ****

Rosinante sat on the makeshift porch of the clubhouse. Muffled laughter, music, and chaos could be heard from behind the closed doors but he made no movement to join in.

Those were Doffy’s followers and “friends.”

Not his.

It was raining again and exhaustion pulled behind his eyes.

He was so tired.

He took a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle and stared ahead as the rain created puddles in the asphalt and dirt around the clubhouse. Raindrops kept falling on his face and shoulders, sneaking in through the awning’s cracks.

He didn’t care. He was too tired to give a shit.

The bourbon didn’t help either. All it did was fuel his exhaustion and irritate him. The issue wasn’t whether or not he was tired. Oh no. That would have been too easy.

The issue was the fucking rain.

His fingers tightened around the bottleneck and he held it to his lips and took several gulps until he was coughing and gagging on the burn of alcohol from trying to chug too much at once.

Sleep. He just wanted to fucking _sleep_.

He had a job first thing in the morning and he needed to rest. It was a simple enough job. It was the usual act of Rosinante being the muscle and laying out one of Doffy’s underworld partners after they tried to pull one over on him.

But Rosinante wouldn’t be very intimidating if he was asleep on his feet.

He held the bourbon to lips again and welcomed the sweet burn as it ran down his—

Something sharp tore through his back.

No. That wasn’t right.

Not _through_.

Something sharp tore _into_ his back, pushing deeper and deeper until all Rosinante could do was suck in air through his teeth and grunt in pain as shock overwhelmed him.

He felt breathless and he looked over his shoulder with knuckles clenched, ready to beat whoever the fuck stabbed him within an inch of their pathetic life.

Only when he turned around, all he could see were black feathers and little figure with a white hat.

His stomach dropped.

“Law! Y-You! Cora! The blood law! THE BLOOD LAW! I-I have to tell Young Master!” a shrill voice filled Rosinante’s ears and he grunted again and saw the other little brat, Buffalo, standing in the threshold of the clubhouse’s doorway.

Shit!

What the fuck was Law _thinking_?

Rosinante made a move to grab Law’s shoulders, to get his attention so they could put together a story that would protect him.

Only when Rosinante turned, Law was gone and all that remained was a little knife.

Damn brat. He was going to get himself killed.

Rosinante huffed in frustration and staggered to the upstairs bathroom. He tried to clean the wound as best as he could and tried to formulate some semblance of a story that would explain the injury to his brother.

It was in just the right spot on his back that he couldn’t quite reach it, so he was stuck standing in front of the mirror without a shirt, back turned and head craned over his shoulder so he could at least see it.

Goddamn brat just _had_ to stab him in the one place he couldn’t properly reach, didn’t he?

Rosinante cursed.

It wasn’t that deep but it still stung and it didn’t help that he could hardly reach it.

There was a jiggle of the doorknob and Rosinante ignored it until the jiggling continued and continued and _continued_.

“Door’s locked, Jackass! Go somewhere else,” Rosinante barked.

It was probably Trebol. He always had a way of showing up when he was least wanted.

He could feel his patience running thin.

“Rosi, open this goddamn door before I break it down,” a low voice hissed.

At the sound of his true name, Rosinante’s blood went cold.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed to himself, throwing the gauze and bandages into the cracked porcelain sink and walking across the stained tile floor to open the door.

Doffy stood there in all his glory. Pink sunglasses, black dress shirt, and pink tie.

He did not smile.

“What—”

Rosinante failed to get his words out because Doffy stepped into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him, forcing Rosinante to take a step back when they stood almost chest to chest.

“Let me see,” Doffy said.

Rosinante tried to argue that he was fine but it was to no avail. Doffy’s hand anchored itself onto his bicep and pulled hard enough that he was forced to turn around. Forced to show his blind side to the one person he feared most in life.

He could see his brother’s face in the filthy bathroom mirror. It was an unreadable mask as he examined the wound in Rosinante’s back.

“Doffy, it’s fine. I just need to clea—”

“Who did this?” Doffy asked.

Rosinante bit down on the inside of his cheek and looked over his shoulder.

“Some no-name thug wanting a fight to get into the Family,” he said quickly, praying like hell that his brother couldn’t somehow see his pulse jump.

Doffy was silent.

“Where is he now?”

Rosinante swallowed.

“I took care of it.”

Doffy was quiet again.

It was always terrifying when his brother was quiet, gave him the chills when it happened.

Doffy left his place from where he stood behind Rosinante and his shoes clicked against the tile as he walked over to the sink where the medical supplies were thrown. Rosinante suppressed that sigh on the top of his lungs and took a step forward to tell his brother he was fine and didn’t need help, but he tripped over his discarded shirt and went spiraling towards the floor.

He groaned from where he landed, tile cooling his skin and wound screaming in agitation.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Doffy said with an impatient huff.

His brother’s hand curled around his bicep again and with hardly any effort at all, lifted him from the floor. Doffy then forced him forward until his hips were flush against the sink and Rosinante was trapped.

They were both massive figures, each standing at heights that shouldn’t have been possible but somehow were. Whenever Rosinante tripped over himself, it would take at least two (sometimes three) people to haul him up because he was just so big. Even Sengoku had only been able to help him up alone when he was younger.

But Doffy stood at his same height, maybe even just a hair taller and had no trouble at all plucking him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

And Rosinante would be lying if he said his brother’s strength didn’t wrack him with nervous fear.

“Don’t move,” Doffy ordered.

He didn’t.

He braced himself against the sink as Doffy cleaned and bandaged the wound. His touch wasn’t particularly gentle, but it wasn’t rough either. If anything, Rosinante thought there was some sort of residual, underlying fondness in his brother’s touch, though he would never say that out loud.

Rosinante’s eyes flickered between the mirror, his brother’s form, and his own scarred hands that braced his weight against the sink.

The bathroom light was weak, only illuminated by old fashioned bulbs on the mirror that bathed the room in a soft yellow hue.

It was the perfect lighting to see the dust specks float around his hands and face.

“Buffalo said Law was there when you were stabbed. He made it sound like the little brat was the one who hurt you,” Doffy hummed.

He tugged hard on the bandage that wrapped around his torso and Rosinante winced at the gesture.

“Yeah,” Rosinante confirmed. He gripped harder at the sink and gritted his teeth, wishing for a cigarette. “He was there. Although, I don’t know why Buffalo would say that. But it was raining pretty badly, so maybe it played tricks on his eyes.”

Doffy finished bandaging the wound and when he stepped back, Rosinante finally released the sigh that sat on the top of his lungs and put his back to the mirror.

“Is that why you were outside so late?” Doffy asked. He plunged his hands into his pockets and stared at Rosinante with that same unreadable mask.

Rosinante’s lips pursed into a thin line.

“You never could sleep when it rained,” Doffy muttered with an irritated sort of scoff.

For a second time that night, Rosinante bit down on the inside of his cheek and bit down _hard_.

“No. I still can’t,” was all he said.

He imagined his brother rolling his eyes behind those rose-tinted glasses, but then that growing tension between them snapped with the lightness of Doffy’s next words.

“I figured Buffalo was full of shit. Law would never be able to land a hit on you with how sick he is.”

The dust specks circled around Doffy’s head like a sort of halo.

Rosinante leaned against the sink, pressing his lower back into the cool porcelain when he could feel the tiny burn from the bandaged wound.

“What’s he sick with anyway?” Rosinante asked off-handedly. He knew Law had some sort of disease. Some type of hindrance that made his body weak when his mind was sharper than cut glass.

He just didn’t know what.

“Amber Lead Syndrome,” Doffy said casually, as if it was as simple as saying ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘the sun rises in the East and sets in the West.’

“I’m sorry?” Rosinante repeated. He could feel his eyes widen in disbelief, ears ringing in the silence.

Doffy shrugged and then had the audacity to smirk.

“He’s from Flevance. Somehow got away before the soldiers could kill him. That’s why he’s such an angry little brat.”

How in the hell…

Rosinante’s heart stuttered.

He didn’t… He didn’t know.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Kind of a waste if you ask me,” Doffy said. He laughed as he slowly morphed back into his usually flamboyant persona.

“We’ve got enough resources and contacts. Can’t we find a cure?” Rosinante asked curiously.

Doffy laughed harder and waved his hand, dust specks flying around at the movement.

“The hell are you talking about, Corazón? The Amber Lead created a toxic chemical buildup in his system. There’s no cure. He means it when he says he’ll be dead in a few years.”

Rosinante’s head swam.

No wonder Law wanted to join the Family. Why not? Why _not_ inflict as much destruction as possible after coming from that horrible place? And why _not_ inflict that destruction via an instrument as volatile and dangerous as the Donquixote Family? Why the hell _not_ when he was only going to live a few more years?

Rosinante remembered a similar anger that filled himself at a young age. He remembered being so angry and sad after what happened to his family.

He remembered the mob. The arrows. The fire.

He remembered the rain.

But Rosinante had found Sengoku. And Law… Law had found Doffy.

Poor thing. Poor, sad, _pathetic_ thing.

“What the hell do you keep staring at?” Doffy asked after a long beat of silence.

Rosinante’s response was immediate and he looked right into those rose-tinted glasses as he said it.

“The dust specks.”

He could see his brother’s shoulders pull taut and veins protrude in his neck. He could see his jaw lock. He could see his mouth form a tight line.

And for a moment, Rosinante thought his brother might strike him.

“Go to bed, Corazón. You have a job in the morning,” was all he said.

Doffy left after that in a flourish of impatience and Rosinante lingered in the bathroom for longer than he probably should have.

He reached down to the floor and picked up his discarded shirt, rubbing the soft material between his fingers.

There was a bloodstain and a small hole from where Law’s knife punctured him. Rosinante let out a sad sigh, heart going out to the boy and then left the bathroom.

When he got to his room, he collapsed on the thin mattress and closed his eyes.

The rain finally stopped.

He fell asleep before it could start again and dreamt of sunlight and wisps of blonde hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention this in chapter 1 or 2 so I'll mention it here.
> 
> I update AT LEAST once a week on Saturday/Sunday nights. Ideally, I'll update twice a week but that depends on my disaster of a schedule. So yeah! In case you're new here, please know that when I say I update at least once a week that I legitimately MEAN that. So you never have to worry about me disappearing (;
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you! Y'all have been so kind and supportive and wonderful! I'm honestly blown away at the positive feedback thank you so so so sooo much<333


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of sex in this chapter

“What can I get for you, Hon?”

Rosinante looked up from his scarred hands to meet the gaze of the bartender. She was a pretty thing. Her hair was lightened and dyed an interesting shade of green, her eyes were so bright that in the overhead lighting they almost looked amber, and her lips were slightly pouted and full.

“Bourbon. Neat please,” he said.

“Coming right up,” she said with a hum. She lingered for a moment longer and Rosinante wondered if there was something on his face with the way she watched him. But before he could ask, she smirked and turned her back to get his drink.

He shouldn’t have been out and he knew that. He knew it was risky anytime he left his apartment since the trial was going on. But Rosinante had a headache after the meeting with the attorneys and he didn’t think he could sit in his apartment for much longer without going clinically insane.

He looked back down at his hands, turning his palms over and over in the warm light. White scars littered his hands, his fingers, and the rest of his body.

He wondered if his brother had as many scars as he did.

“Here you go,” she said.

She rested her elbows on the bar and Rosinante could smell her perfume. She smelled of lavender and mint, and it made his head spin in a way that both was and was not pleasing.

She didn’t move from where she leaned across the bar, if anything, she leaned closer. Her eyes slid across his face and chest, and Rosinante gave her a nervous smile before he tucked his face into the glass rim of his bourbon.

He chalked any interest she had in him up to the fact that it was late, the bar was a total shithole, and he was one of maybe five or six patrons in the whole establishment. It made sense that she wanted to talk to someone to entertain her. At least that was what he told himself.

“You got a brother who lives in the city? I saw a guy in here last night who kinda looked like you. You’re both just so handsome and _big_ ,” she said with a mischievous grin and twinkle in her eye.

He damn near choked on his drink.

Bourbon flew from his glass as he coughed. The alcohol singed his sinuses and back of his throat, and he could feel it seeping into the front of his button-down.

“Oh!” she said. She turned her back for a brief moment and returned with some paper towels and reached across the bar to press them to the top of his chest where most of the bourbon spilled.

“Sorry,” he said when he finished coughing, eager to get her hands off of him because there was that sting in his sternum again and a stranger touching him there did _not_ help.

He caught her hand and tried to take the paper towel away from her so he could dab at his own shirt (and around the lingering pain in his chest).

“So is that a ‘yes’ to the brother thing?” she asked with a giggle.

She pulled her hand back and grabbed a rag to quick wipe down the bar while Rosinante busied himself with his now soiled shirt.

“Oh uh,” his fucking hands started shaking again. “No.”

There was no way in hell she believed him because she giggled again and wiggled her eyebrows.

He set the wet paper towels on the bar and finished off the last little bit of his drink in one quick swig, nose scrunching as it burned his throat.

He set the glass down a little too hard when his hands started shaking so badly that he almost dropped it and tried to give the bartender his most charming smile.

“Mind if I smoke?”

She tapped her chin and narrowed her eyes with that same smirk from before. Dimples pierced her cheeks and her eyes twinkled.

“Don’t you know that it isn’t cool to smoke anymore?” she teased.

He forced a smile and shrugged.

“I’m an old man. What can I say?”

That got a laugh out of her, one that made some of the other patrons look over in their direction and made Rosinante sink into himself.

“Look at those muscles. You can’t be that old,” she practically _purred_.

She reached across the bar again and rested a delicate hand on his bicep and squeezed.

He held back his frustrated sigh and refrained from pushing her away for the sake of not coming across like a total dick.

Rosinante could take a compliment but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and he needed the nicotine to relax them.

“Old enough to know better and still not do anything about it,” he replied. He nodded at her and tried again with a, “so is it okay?”

She must have been having a fantastic goddamn time feeling him up because those pretty amber eyes glinted in the light and when she finally withdrew her hand, she rested her elbows on the bar and pushed her chest out.

“That other guy said the same thing about his age, said I should give him a discount since he was practically an old man,” she pouted her lips and cocked her head to the side, eyes still raking across his face and chest. “He was only forty-one so he didn’t get any special treatment. What about you? How old are you?”

Rosinante found it harder and harder not to huff in frustration because his fucking hands were almost vibrating.

“If I tell you will you let me smoke?” he asked.

His voice was too harsh. Too rough to be charming enough to convince her to let him smoke inside. And in retrospect, he should have just gone outside.

But it was raining goddamnit and he didn’t—

“Mhm,” she hummed.

“Thirty-nine,” he answered right away.

His hands moved of their own accord and they fumbled in his pockets for his box of cigarettes and lighter.

It turned out to be a monumental task because his hands wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to actually pull a fucking cigarette out and put it to his lips.

“Oh you two are definitely related then,” she remarked when he finally finished fumbling and had the cigarette firmly between his lips.

Rosinante ignored her as he struggled with his lighter.

If the damn thing would just ignite—

“The age difference is just right, you have the same features, and you’re both so _big_ and—”

“He’s old enough to be your father, Monet. Leave the guy alone,” one of the patrons at the other end of the bar called out.

His lighter sprang to life.

Rosinante held it to the end of his cigarette and puffed until the embers glowed.

Smoke filled his breath but the relief wasn’t as instant as it should have been.

It was there in the sense that he could feel his pulse begin to slow down. It was there in the sense that he could feel his head start to clear.

But his hands… His hands still trembled.

…Why?

“Oh, I’m only messing with him, Bellamy,” the bartender, Monet, said. She looked back at Rosinante and a lock of colored hair fell across her left eye. “What’s your name, Big Guy?”

Rosinante locked eyes with her as he puffed on his cigarette.

The bar was suddenly quieter and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

She didn’t look away either, which was a little odd. Rosinante could make just about anyone look away from him if he locked gazes with them the way he just did with Monet.

What sort of awful thing happened to her that she didn’t even seem phased?

“Rosi,” he said lowly.

“Is that short for something?”

He did not break his gaze with her as he flicked the cigarette ash into his empty glass.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he replied.

She pursed her lips as if she was trying to hold back a grin and giggled into her hand. Dimples pierced her cheeks and Rosinante narrowed his eyes.

“I thought that younger siblings were supposed to be more fun, but you look just as serious as the other guy,” she quipped. “You new to the area, Rosi? I haven’t seen you around at all.”

There was a snort from the other end of the bar and Rosinante looked over his shoulder.

The snort came from a younger man that was blond and burly and had a scar going across his head and eye.

“No. I’m not,” Rosinante said between breaths of white smoke.

His eyes drifted back to the blond guy.

Something about him unnerved Rosinante.

“Another drink?” Monet asked.

Rosinante looked away from the blond man.

He shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have been out and about so openly. He shouldn’t have been risking his _life_ by sitting in a bar that his brother supposedly had been in the prior night.

But it was raining and his hands were still shaking.

So against his better judgment, he stayed.

He nodded at Monet and she smirked, practically fluttering around the bar and producing a new glass and filling it with beautiful copper-colored liquid.

He sipped the bourbon between puffs of his cigarette and let his eyes close. He rolled his neck out and savored the way his body relaxed.

The pain in his torso evaporated and the vibrating in his hands slowed to a softer, gentler tremble. One that was less frequent and one that made it easier to hold the cigarette between his fingers.

A ringing filled his ears but he ignored it.

He almost thought that he could hear the sound of rain on the roof as the noise of the bar melted away.

He imagined the sound of the storm and his jaw locked. If only he could just—

“Rosi.”

Rosinante blinked and just like that, the spell he’d been under broke.

Monet watched him with that same flirtatious smirk.

“Hm?”

She leaned on the bar again and lazily reached a hand out to take the cigarette from his lips and tap the excess ash off into the empty glass. She then deliberately held his gaze, amber irises holding brick-red ones and took a drag of his cigarette.

He could feel one eyebrow arch and barely reacted after she held the cigarette out to his lips and waited for him to take it back.

“I thought smoking wasn’t cool anymore,” he said.

“It’s not,” she said. Smoke followed her words and she shrugged her small shoulders. “But you’re too cute to resist and I like the smell.”

He snorted at that and took one final puff of the cigarette.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life but I don’t think ‘cute’ was ever one of them,” he said.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for blonds.”

Something glinted in her eyes that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that made him swallow back a lump in his throat.

He distracted his thoughts on the subject by taking a gulp of his bourbon.

“So tell me about this doppelgänger of mine,” he muttered into his glass.

His hair stood up on the back of his neck again, though he was certain the cause this time was because of his brother.

She hummed and gave him a wicked grin.

“I never said he was your doppelgänger. I said he was your brother.”

“Don’t have a brother,” Rosinante said. He drank more of his bourbon and paid close attention to the way it burned.

“Hm,” she giggled and nodded down the bar at where the blond man, Bellamy, sat with a beer. “You believe that, Bellamy? You think Rosi here isn’t related to that guy from yesterday?”

Bellamy looked at Rosinante and scoffed hard enough that Rosinante wondered if the action popped a blood vessel.

“You look alike. I’ll give you that,” he said. There was a slight slur to his words, likely from all the beer. “But you’re too soft to be related to that guy. You look like my mother could kick your ass.”

Rosinante’s eyes narrowed of their own accord.

“ _Men_ ,” Monet said with a huff. She touched Rosinante’s shoulder to try and get his attention, but he didn’t look away from Bellamy.

“You need something, Pretty Boy?” Bellamy sneered.

Rosinante’s lips curled into a tiny, barely noticeable smirk. He looked back at Monet and held her gaze as he downed the rest of his bourbon in only a few gulps.

“I’m too old for this,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” she said easily.

Rosinante quirked an eyebrow and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“No, no,” Monet said. Her hands were on his bicep again, fingers curling around the muscle as she batted her pretty eyes at him. “I mean it. On the house.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled again.

The sound of the door opening filled his ears but when he tried to look at who came in, Monet’s fingers took hold of his chin and forced him to look at her and only her.

That chill on the back of his neck traveled down his spine.

“Do a shot with me before you leave,” she said.

Her breath warmed his face and he could smell cinnamon on her tongue.

“Are you always so handsy?” he asked.

Her eyes twinkled and she said a soft, “I already told you that I have a thing for blonds. C’mon. One shot. Top shelf bourbon.”

Someone entered his peripheral vision, someone in a maroon dress with long black hair that fell in soft curls.

There was something oddly familiar about their presence but he couldn’t look at them head on with Monet’s fingers still gripping his chin.

“Hey, Baby. Come over here,” Bellamy said.

Rosinante noticed the dark-headed figure leave his peripheral vision. She said something back that Rosinante couldn’t quite decipher, but he didn’t know what.

Something didn’t feel right.

“If I do a shot will you let me leave?” Rosinante asked with a sigh.

Monet gave him a thoughtful look. Then she licked her lips and smirked.

“Sure thing, Big Guy,” she said.

He sighed, “all right then.”

She held his chin for a moment longer and then promptly released it.

He rubbed his chin once she let him go, noticing that the skin was hot to the touch from her grip. He then looked back down the bar to where Bellamy had been, to where that dark-headed figure should have been, but they were gone.

He didn’t get a chance to think about it any longer because Monet set a shot glass down in front of him filled with amber liquid.

“Cheers,” she said.

She held up her shot glass, something twinkling in the light, and Rosinante reluctantly took the glass in his scarred fingers and held it up.

He downed it in one swallow.

It instantly warmed him and he noticed right away how his hands _finally_ stopped trembling.

He stared at them in fascination. Clenched his fingers in and out of fists. Watched their steadiness when he unclenched them.

How long had it been since his hands were so still?

He couldn’t remember.

“What kind of bourbon was that?” he asked curiously.

Monet set the bottle on the bar. It had a black label he’d never seen before and there were interesting little flecks that glinted in the bottle. They almost looked like gold and he wondered how he missed the flecks in his own shot glass when they’d been obvious in Monet’s.

“You sure I don’t owe you anything?” Rosinante asked. He stood up from the stool and already had a hand in his pocket, ready to pull his wallet out.

Monet cocked her head to the side and rested her chin on her hand. She didn’t bother trying to hide the way she looked him up and down. Didn’t bother trying to act bashful.

“Positive, Big Guy.”

He pursed his lips.

“Right. Thanks then,” he said. He nodded and took long strides to get the hell out of there.

He was greeted with rain once he got outside.

He stood there for a moment, unmoving and quiet.

It came down in sheets and it soaked through his clothes and hair in a matter of seconds. The air outside was hot and muggy, so the rain didn’t necessarily feel unpleasant. If anything, it felt a little refreshing.

Almost like a breath of cool, crisp air.

He started to walk back to his apartment, not bothering to duck underneath shop awnings or anything of the sort. He just dipped his head and looked at his feet while he walked.

Rosinante only wished it wasn’t raining so hard. There was no way he’d be able to light a cigarette and smoke it with the way it was coming down.

The bar was only a few blocks away from his apartment and with each block he put behind him, he grew more exhausted.

His shoulders soon slumped forward and eyelids felt heavy.

Maybe the lack of sleep from the last several days was finally catching up with him because two and a half glasses of bourbon should not have done that to him. He was too large for such a small amount of alcohol to have such an effect on him.

The sounds of the rain hitting the pavement started to dissolve in his ears. It turned into a low ringing instead and washed over his body like warm sunlight.

It was almost peaceful.

Rosinante wasn’t sure how far he’d walked, but he reached the brick apartment complex with crumbling corners, the same one that stood directly across from his bedroom window. And without warning, he stumbled onto the stoop of the building and brushed his wet bangs out of his eyes, just in time for his legs to give out on him.

His head swam with the low ring in his ears and his body felt unbearably hot despite how drenched he was.

He rested his elbows on his thighs, sitting on the stoop and letting his head fall between his shoulders. He took deep breaths and blinked his heavy, heavy eyelids.

He wondered if he would see that stray cat again. The one from before that was running from the rain.

Stars littered the edges of his vision and he blinked slowly to see if they would go away, but they wouldn’t. They just lingered and very slowly began to invade the rest of his sight.

Something was wrong with him and he only had one thought.

That he needed to get inside.

He could see his building. It was right there.

It was _literally_ right in front of him. All he had to do was cross the street, open the door, climb two measly flights of stairs, and stumble into his apartment.

He could sleep on the floor for all he cared, but he couldn’t stay on the stoop.

The wet city street blurred in and out of focus. The ringing in his ears grew louder. And his body…

Fuck, why did his body feel so _hot_?

Despite the rain, he could feel the sweat on his chest, back of his neck, and behind his knees. He could feel the redness of his face. He could feel the heat getting trapped in the space between his skin and his clothes.

He grunted and braced himself against the building’s crumbling corners to haul himself up.

His lungs screamed for oxygen once he got back on his feet.

What the fuck was _wrong_ with him?

The door to his complex was so close. Just barely out of reach.

His vision blurred again and he could feel his legs begin to buckle under his weight. His breath went out from his lungs as he started to stumble back, but his hand caught the side of the building and a sharp sting ripped into his palm.

The pain was sobering and it snapped his vision back to clarity.

Rosinante sucked in a harsh breath. The corner he grabbed onto started to crumble as he fell back, and it was the shattering brick that created an edge sharp enough to carve a gash into his palm.

It was all he needed to bring him to reality.

His steps were sluggish and messy, but no less clumsy than normal for him, so he was able to make it.

He stumbled his way to the door, shimmied his key into the lock, and miraculously somehow got up those two flights of stairs and into his apartment.

The door slammed shut behind him and his knees hit the floor the instant he was safely inside.

His consciousness began to slip through his fingers, bloody gash in his hand forgotten as his body crumpled in on itself.

Where was the sound of the rain? All he heard was ringing.

Where was the dirt on his floorboards? All he saw was fog.

Was he dying? Was this it? Dead before he could put his brother away in Impel Down? Dead before he could ever reunite with Law?

How was he—why was this—

His eyelids drooped and drool spilled from his mouth, pooling against where his cheek was pressed against the floor.

Just before it all slipped away from him, his eyes flickered to the living room window.

There was a shadow there. It was tall like him and just as wide. And it had the most interesting silhouette, almost as if it was made of feathers.

He had the strangest desire to reach out. To touch the feathers and drape himself in them for warmth.

But his consciousness slipped through his fingers before he could give it any more thought.

* * *

**_15 years ago_ **

The black feathers of Rosinante’s jacket caught fire thanks to the embers from his cigarette.

It was no surprise to anyone, himself included, though he still went through the familiar motions of ripping the damn thing off and stomping the flames out with his foot.

Echoes of laughter bounced off the walls of the card room, giggles that belonged to Baby 5 and Buffalo no doubt.

They were brats. Awful little things that hung off of Doffy’s every single word and worshipped the ground he walked on.

But they had their moments, particularly Baby 5. She grinned to the high heavens when he gave her tasks to do and told her she’d done a good job. Buffalo had his moments too, though Rosinante kept a closer eye on him after the encounter with Law.

Despite all of that though, the worst part was having to watch their innocence be deliberately wiped away each day.

If they would just _leave._ If they could just get away before they were older, then maybe they’d have a chance at a normal life.

Rosinante fixed his expression into a nasty scowl and it did the trick. Baby 5 and Buffalo shrank back away from him and stifled their giggles.

He needed a drink.

Once he shook his jacket off, he draped it over his shoulders and began to saunter out of the room, but was brought to an abrupt halt when Trebol stood in his way.

Rosinante’s lip curled.

He was a disgusting, sad excuse for a human being. He fell over Doffy and whispered poisonous thoughts into his brother’s head. Doffy was probably always going to be some sort of crime lord, but Trebol only expedited it and indulged Doffy’s worst desires.

Rosinante hated him.

“What?” he asked whilst purposely blowing white smoke in the man’s mucus covered face.

“Young Master wants to see you in his room,” Trebol said while he waved the smoke away. The corner of his lips curved upward and a low giggle left his mouth. “Now.”

Rosinante held his breath.

He just wanted to punch Trebol in his stupid fucking face.

“Fine.”

Rosinante didn’t say anything else. He walked around Trebol and purposely bumped shoulders with him. The action forced the disgusting, sniveling man to stumble back into a wall and damn near fall over.

And Rosinante wasn’t too proud to admit that he smirked.

He took the clubhouse steps two at a time and braced himself for the bullshit.

He should have lit a new cigarette before he saw his brother, but his spare box was in his room and he didn’t want to risk Doffy’s impatience.

Rosinante reached his brother’s door and leaned against the frame. He rapped his bruised knuckles against the deteriorating wood and waited for permission to come in.

“It’s me,” Rosinante said after a beat of silence.

There was another pause and then a muffled, “come in.”

For all of Doffy’s flamboyance and grandeur, his room did not echo those sentiments. His room was the largest one in the clubhouse, but it was still small with dark wooden floors and stained white walls. The only furniture in it was a chair by the one window and a four-poster bed. Overall, it was plain.

So unlike his brother.

Which, speaking of, was sitting on the edge of the bed with his bare back to the door and—

“What the _fuck,_ Doffy?” Rosinante shouted.

He averted his eyes the instant they noticed his brother’s complete and total lack of clothing and a woman’s head between his legs.

The sounds of Doffy’s snickering filled his ears along with a distinct wet smack of lips and _slurping._

Rosinante pivoted on his heel to get the hell out of there because what the actual fuck was Doffy thinking? Sure, they were brothers and had seen each other naked before. Whatever. But Rosinante had _zero_ want or need to see some chick blow Doffy right there in front of him.

“Oh relax,” Doffy said dryly. He didn’t sound affected at all. Hell, he didn’t even sound breathless or anything.

He sounded completely normal.

Yet another reason to suspect that his brother was a literal _psychopath._

Rosinante suppressed a groan and lingered by the door.

“I’ve got a hit for you. He needs to be taken care of in the next three days,” Doffy said. He grabbed a piece of paper on the bed and twisted around just enough so that he could hold it out to Rosinante.

He blinked.

What?

“Stop being such a fuckin’ prude and come here,” Doffy ordered, an edge of impatience manifesting in his voice.

Rosinante’s legs moved of their own accord, carrying him across the hardwood floors to the opposite edge of his brother’s bed.

It was almost like a haze flooded his vision as his eyes focused on the photograph of the unfamiliar man.

“A hit?”

The sounds of the woman between his brother’s legs faded to a low ringing and Rosinante almost forgot about her presence entirely as his sole focus shifted to his brother instead.

“Yeah. Put him in the ground. I don’t care how you do it, just do it in three days,” Doffy said nonchalantly. Once Rosinante took the photograph, Doffy’s free hand went to the woman’s hair and pushed her head down into his lap.

There was the harsh sound of her gagging but Rosinante hardly paid it any attention.

“…I’m not doing that. Tell Diamante or Pica to do it.”

Rosinante could see Doffy’s grip on the woman’s hair tighten until the veins strained themselves in both the back of his hand and his forearm.

“Hey,” Doffy said. He yanked her head off of him and Rosinante averted his eyes. “Give us a minute.”

When Rosinante risked a look at her, she looked a little relieved.

She didn’t argue with Doffy and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up, grabbing her shirt and pressing it to her exposed chest as she took hurried steps out of the room.

She brushed Rosinante’s shoulder as she scurried out of there, but he didn’t look at her again.

He only looked at his brother.

He at least had the decency to drape a sheet across his lap and his mouth fixed itself into a tight frown, glasses reflecting off the little bit of light of his room.

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you,” Doffy said. His voice was low and dangerous. Just above a whisper. Just menacing enough to be a warning.

Rosinante couldn’t see any dust specks in the room. The light wasn’t quite right. It was too dark outside. The light inside too weak.

He wondered if Sengoku knew the type of danger he was sending Rosinante into when they developed the plan. He wondered if Sengoku knew Rosinante would be given these sorts of orders. He wondered if Sengoku knew that there was a sick, twisted part of Rosinante that kind of liked it.

“I don’t care. I’m not killing someone,” he said.

Doffy stared him down until he was frozen in place. Rosinante could only imagine what those irises looked like behind his glasses. He could only imagine the color of Doffy’s left eye after so many years.

Was it grey? Was it red? Was it still blue?

“I asked if you had the stomach for the job when I made you my Corazón.”

“You never mentioned this,” Rosinante said right back.

Doffy gave a harsh laugh, an incredulous laugh. A laugh that was filled with a lifetime of unsaid words between them. A laugh that was filled with residual memories, fondness, and so much frustration.

“I’ve been going easy on you because you are my own flesh and blood, but now I’m starting to think that Trebol is right about you—”

Rosinante’s temper flared. Blood boiled.

“Trebol is a waste of your time, Doffy—”

“He’s given me more than you _ever_ hav—”

“Trebol’s threatened by me because we’re brothers and—”

“Then _act_ like my brother, you spoiled fuckin—”

“I _do_ act like your brother! I’m the only one of your little lackeys that calls you out on your bullshit and if you would just—”

“You are _mine_ ,” Doffy snarled. He shot up from where he sat on the bed, sheet no longer around his hips. He gripped Rosinante’s shoulder. Fingers dug into his already scarred skin and pressed and pressed and _pressed_ until Rosinante could feel bruises form. “So when I give you an order, it’s your job to follow it. Not talk back.”

Rosinante’s skin felt cold despite the warmth his feathered jacket provided him.

Doffy never liked to share his toys when they were children. He never liked to share his food when they were starving. He never liked to share his thoughts when they were alone.

And to know that his brother only saw him as possession made a lump appear in his throat.

Did Sengoku know that Rosinante belonged to his brother and that he would never, _ever_ give him back?

“You’re going to do your fuckin’ job and put that guy in the ground where he belongs. Got it, _Corazón_?”

Rosinante stared at his reflection in his brother’s glasses.

His lungs itched for a cigarette.

“Fine.”

Doffy released his shoulder and Rosinante could feel the blood rush there, already forming bruises beneath his scarred skin.

Doffy leaned closer to him and his wine coated breath filled his nostrils.

“You belong to me. So next time you try that shit, you’ll be the one with the hit on your head. Understood?”

Rosinante just looked at him.

Despite the shit lighting, he could somehow make out the dust specks that settled on his brother’s glasses.

He almost laughed, hysteric giddiness bubbling in his gut.

“Understood,” Rosinante whispered when he could feel his lips quirk into a smirk without his permission.

His reflection was a horrible sight in Doffy’s glasses. His smeared makeup combined with a wild look in his eyes and that terrible, almost bloodthirsty smirk?

He looked almost as unhinged as his brother.

“Good,” Doffy hissed. He sat back down on the bed and snatched a bottle of wine from the floor. “Send the whore back in.”

Rosinante almost snickered again.

He pushed his bangs away from his face and took in a shaky breath.

“Oh of course _._ Anything for you, _Young Master_ ,” he drawled when he opened the door of the bedroom.

“Hey! I don’t need the fuckin’ attitude, Rosinante!” Doffy shouted.

Rosinante slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls.

Hell, he almost wondered if he broke the damn thing.

The woman stood against the wall, sucking on a cigarette when Rosinante emerged from Doffy’s bedroom. Her shirt hung off her shoulder and he nodded at her.

“You can go back in,” he muttered.

She took another puff of her cigarette but he didn’t wait to see if she went back inside or not. He just made a beeline for his room in desperate need of a cigarette.

He reached his room and lit up with violently shaking hands.

He contemplated sitting on the bed, but he was too wired to sleep.

And one quiet moment told him that it was raining, so it wasn’t like he would be able to anyway.

He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and cursed until his lungs stung from lack of breath and kicked his nightstand, knocking it right to the ground and shattering an empty glass that sat on it.

He was so fucking tired.

Sengoku always fretted about his sleeping habits. Used to give him expensive earplugs for when it rained. Used to tell him stories as a child that would lull him to sleep when the rain was too loud.

Fucking hell. Rosinante missed him. He missed Sengoku and Garp and the Bureau.

He missed the freedom from always having bruised knuckles.

Unable to stand the thought of being in his room any longer, he went back outside to the porch of the clubhouse. The same place he had been only two weeks ago when Law stabbed him.

The brat hadn’t been around much since then. He’d primarily been stuck with Jora and the kids, so Rosinante never got the chance to confront him.

Which was fine he supposed. The kid was still breathing, so that was all that mattered.

He took his seat on the porch, resting his elbows on his thighs as he watched the storm rage on and destroyed his lungs with breaths of tobacco and nicotine.

His eyes burned.

He just wanted to sleep.

But every time he closed his eyes and the sound of falling rain filled his ears, it completely overwhelmed his senses until all he could see were flashes of a shack and images of blood.

“Oi. Corazón.”

Rosinante’s eyes snapped open before the loud _bang_ in his memories could go off and he lazily looked over his shoulder.

Law.

The little brat stood just outside the front door of the clubhouse in his worn white hat and button-down shirt.

There wasn’t any light outside. The only light came from inside the clubhouse. Came from the lamps of the kitchen and card room that could be seen through the windows.

“What is it, Brat?” Rosinante asked weakly.

He hoped his voice didn’t sound as hoarse as he thought it did.

“Trebol said Young Master wants to see you,” Law muttered.

“Already saw him,” Rosinante answered. He took a long drag of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could.

Why did it have to rain every fucking night?

He almost could have cried he was so tired.

Hell, even his body was tired. His muscles throbbed. His fingers were sore with pain as he held his cigarette there against his mouth.

It was too much.

Why did he do this to himself?

“Corazón?”

Rosinante’s fingers twitched when he took the final puff of his cigarette and looked back at Law.

“You’re still there?”

The coldness in his voice did nothing to deter Law because the kid walked right over to him and sat beside him on the step.

“Why are you sitting out here?”

Rosinante’s eyebrows arched as he tossed the cigarette butt into a puddle at the bottom of the porch steps.

“Can’t sleep when it rains,” he answered.

Law didn’t move from his place beside him and Rosinante could see him fold his hands in his lap through the corner of his eye.

Rosinante let go of that breath of smoke he’d been holding onto and curiously looked down at Law’s little hunched over form beside him.

“Is that why you were outside the other night?” Law asked so quietly that his words were almost drowned out by the storm.

Rosinante rubbed his jaw.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

But a comfortable silence. One that wasn’t filled with violent tension that smothered his mouth and chest.

It was an easy silence.

“Why didn’t you tell Doflamingo?” Law asked.

Rosinante rested his cheek in his hand and lazily glanced at Law.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Despite how dark it was, Rosinante could see Law’s chest shudder with each breath and the way his hands curled into tight fists.

“I’m not planning on telling him either. So it’s fine,” he added when the kid wouldn’t relax.

Law then erupted into a fit of wet coughs and his hands clutched at his chest while he endured the fit.

Rosinante watched him and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

He couldn’t see because of the darkness, but he was sure that white blotches were beginning to creep up Law’s chest and onto his neck.

Poor thing was probably in so much pain as the toxins of that terrible city floated around in his bloodstream.

“Go to bed,” Rosinante said when his coughing ceased. He reached down and rested a hand on the top of his hat and rubbed it.

Law weakly swatted him away.

“I’m not tired.”

Rosinante almost chuckled. It was a little hard to remember how young all the kids were given the things they were asked to do. But that little immature protest was a stark reminder of the truth. And Rosinante could see the little dark circles underneath the kid’s eyes and the way his whole body shuddered against the wind.

Of course he was tired. He was probably exhausted.

“I don’t believe you,” Rosinante replied.

Law glared at him and Rosinante couldn’t help but let his mouth form the beginnings of a smile.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go to bed, Brat.”

He could see Law clench his jaw, but the kid stood up anyway and started to stomp away.

But not before he muttered a quiet, “I’m not a brat.”

Once Rosinante heard the door open and close behind him, he relaxed and shook his head.

What a rude little kid.

Even so, he still smiled into the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have been so friggen SWEET in the comments omg I cannot say thank you so much. It honestly makes me so happy. You have no idea<3
> 
> Next update will be next weekend as per usual!(:
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you!(:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta was away this week so I apologize in advance for any typos! I'll grab em as the week goes on!

When Rosinante woke up the first thing his senses latched onto was the puddle of drool his cheek was pressed against and the jackhammer going off inside his skull.

He groaned and curled into himself. His clothes were heavy with rainwater and they almost glued themselves to his skin when he moved. The floor beneath him was cold and hard enough that he already had knots in his back, but that wasn’t what ripped him from his initial sleep inertia.

The pain did. The pain in his chest that snatched his breath away so fast that he instantly felt dizzy. The searing hot pain in his sternum and abdomen that made him nauseous and ready to vomit on himself.

It felt too real to be a phantom touch. It felt too tangible.

Rosinante whimpered and pressed his hands to his chest as if that could do something to soothe the molten hot _agony_ his body writhed in.

Tears flooded his already hazy vision and his stomach twisted.

He needed to see his chest.

_Fuck_ , he just needed to keep it together long enough to—

He gagged on the taste of his own pain. On the taste of copper saliva. On the taste of glowing hot metal in the back of his throat.

His body heaved until bile trickled out of his mouth and until his head collapsed back to the floor.

Where was Garp when he needed him?

Rosinante panted, withdrawing one hand away from his tender chest so he could feel around in his pocket for his phone. The effort made his entire body erupt into shivers and chills that felt like bolts of lightning and made him twitch between grunts of pain.

He must have been groping around for his phone for at least a solid minute before his fingers brushed against the plastic case and he had it in front of his face long enough to dial Sengoku.

He answered on the first ring.

“I’m surprised you’re awake so early, Rosi.”

Rosinante was sure that Sengoku could hear him struggling to breathe. So he tried to make it quick so he didn’t worry the old man too much.

“I… Can you—” Rosinante’s body betrayed him and he heaved again. A colossal task that made tears fall from his eyes from the torture the action caused his godforsaken _chest_.

“Rosinante, what’s wrong?” Sengoku demanded. The panic was evident in his voice and Rosinante wished he could have told him he was fine, but he so very clearly was not.

“Sengoku,” he sucked in a breath and blinked tears from his eyes. “Just—”

“Are you home?” Sengoku barked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rosinante tried to keep his voice steady but it came out as a whisper instead because he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t mean to scare Sengoku but he needed help and his body was betraying him with every passing second.

“I’m coming. Don’t. Move.”

Rosinante wanted to laugh.

As if he could.

He didn’t know how much time passed but he was still a convulsing mess on his floor, tearing up and gagging because his torso hurt so fucking much that when Sengoku threw his front door open he damn near tripped over him.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor!” Sengoku said. He never was one to waste time before reprimanding someone.

Rosinante couldn’t even see him because his shivering kept him completely immobile and the thought of removing his hands from his aching chest was a thought too terrifying to entertain.

“D… Do you think,” he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence because his teeth chattered so badly. “…that I _want_ to be on the floor?”

“Garp, get in here!” Sengoku shouted.

Rosinante didn’t know that Garp was with Sengoku but he wasn’t surprised.

“Why are your clothes all wet? What the hell happened to you?” Sengoku asked. The worry in his voice was all too evident.

The guilt would have been overwhelming had it not been for the sad state he was currently in. The only thing that overwhelmed Rosinante was the nausea in his stomach and the fire in his body.

Sengoku crouched down beside him and his eyes did a quick sweep of Rosinante’s crumpled form and surrounding area.

“Rosi, who was in here?” Sengoku’s voice was low and oddly calm?

That was bad. Really bad.

Things were always bad when Sengoku got calm like that.

“No one,” Rosinante murmured. His stomach churned again and he tried to refrain from dry heaving on Sengoku’s feet.

“What in the hell…”

Garp.

“Help me get him up,” Sengoku ordered.

Rosinante shivered. He suddenly felt sleepy and was overcome with the desire to just lay there on the floor. It was a little like Minion Island in that way. It was similar to the comfort he felt as he lay dying in the snow.

But then there were hands on his arms and they were the only things that kept him lucid. Those grips were strong. They were powerful and intimidating.

But most of all, they were familiar.

All at once he was hauled to his feet (through no contribution of his own), and Rosinante almost blacked out right there and a string of incoherent gasps and whimpers tore from the back of his throat, hands clutching at his shirt.

“ _Stop stop—fuck—I can’t—stop!_ ” He felt something wet roll down his cheek. _“Please!”_

Was that him? Was that awful plead for relief really coming from him? There was no way. Rosinante had endured so much and he had never been reduced to such a state? He was a Donquixote for fuck’s sake. He had a ridiculous ability to tank hits and hardly bat an eye. What was going on? Was this a dream?

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, Garp! I’m not a doctor!”

Rosinante’s knees buckled under his weight and he would have hit the floor and hit it hard had it not been for Sengoku and Garp holding him up.

He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t fight back as they both hauled him off somewhere.

There was a pulsing behind his eye and a thudding in his temples. He could see memories on the backs of his eyelids. He could see fire and arrows. He could see guns and rain.

The back of his knees hit something soft and he could feel himself being lowered down onto what he deduced was his bed.

“Let me see your chest, Rosi.”

Sengoku.

“C’mon, Punk. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

Garp.

At least he was still lucid enough to tell their voices apart. It was a small feat in itself and he intended to hold onto it for as long as he could.

Rosinante wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to tell them about last night. About how he’d stumbled home in the rain and almost passed out on a stoop. About how he thought he saw a shadow made of feathers right when he blacked out.

He couldn’t.

His vocal cords weren’t working and his body seized.

Things were foggy. He tried to speak, to get some sort of coherent sentence out but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a strangled wheeze.

Consciousness came and went. He felt drunk, only there was no pleasant buzz. There was only that horrible stinging, stabbing, who-fucking-knows-what, sensation absolutely _wrecking_ his body.

There were hands on his wrists. Hands strong enough to pry them away from his chest and keep them away. Hands that were deliberate enough to not bruise him.

That had to be Sengoku. Garp never quite cared about leaving bruises.

Wet fabric was peeled away from his body and then there was the wonderful sensation of air cooling his skin.

“Who the hell did this to him?”

Garp.

“Rosi, I need you to stay awake.”

Sengoku.

He tried. He really did.

Rosinante didn’t think it should be a problem staying awake. Between the pain and the nausea, he should have been alert. He should have found it next to impossible to drift into any sort of sleep.

But it wasn’t.

His consciousness started to slip through his fingers the way it had the night before.

“Rosinante? Stay awake, okay?”

Sengoku.

He sounded so nervous.

Why?

Rosinante licked his lips and tried to answer. Tried to tell him that he was awake and that he could hear him. Tried to tell him about the bar he’d been to last night. Tried to tell him about the feathers.

“Stay with us, Punk. An ambulance is on the way but we need you to…”

Garp.

His words buzzed until they faded into an unintelligible echo.

Did he lock his door last night? He couldn’t remember.

He had to testify tomorrow, so he needed to lock his door.

He—he really needed…

Needed…

To…

* * *

**_15 years ago_ **

Sengoku would never forgive him. The Bureau would kick him out. He would lose everything.

He would never sleep again.

Rosinante felt sick as he showered. He pressed his hands against the dirty tiled wall and dropped his head. Water that was too hot for his own good, water that burned his skin, fell upon him like rain and it was too much.

He retched until yellow bile came up and drained down the shower.

There wasn’t anything left to throw up. He’d already vomited any food or drink in his stomach after he finished the hit. He was still uneasy though.

The queasiness let up long enough for Rosinante to pick up a bar of soap and start scrubbing at himself.

The suds of the soap turned the shade of his eyes. The same brick dust color. The same brown-red. He could smell the filth. He could practically taste the bitterness of the soap fusing with the iron of the blood.

He heaved again.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he agree to this? Why did he ever think he could get away with joining the Donquixote Family and remain unscathed?

And why the _fuck_ did he go through with the hit?

Oh hell. What would his mother say if she could see him now?

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned the water as hot as it could go until it scorched his skin and pelted it until he was red.

She was there. She was always there, tattooed into the backs of his eyelids. She was as pretty as an angel and had a smile that could put any model to shame. He could even still hear her voice. It was as soft and sweet as wind chimes.

_“See that, Love? Those little specks in the light?”_

He could see the memory as clearly as he could see the bloody soapsuds on his arms.

_He was just a child in his mother’s lap, sitting in the grand library of their mansion in the Mariejois. Doffy was sitting in a deep red, velvet chaise, lazily flipping through the pages of a thick book._

_“What are they?” he asked._

_His mother brushed his bangs away from his eyes so he could clearly see the rays of sunlight and the way little specks drifted through the air._

_“They’re dust specks,” she said. “My grandmother used to tell me that they were entire little worlds. That each dust speck was different from the last. Kinda like little tiny planets and cities. Isn’t that interesting, Rosi?”_

_He blinked at the dust specks in fascination but found he couldn’t quite focus on them with the sunlight in his eyes and wisps of his mother’s blonde hair on his face._

_There was the distinctive sound of Doffy slamming his book shut and Rosinante twisted in his mother’s lap to look at his big brother._

_“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”_

Rosinante opened his eyes and took a deep breath of steam.

He was being ridiculous.

All he did was act in self-defense. It wasn’t his fault that Doffy’s target decided to try and jump Rosinante first. He acted in his own self interests. So what if the target ended up dead? The guy had been a criminal. Same as Doffy.

And Rosinante would have been dead if he didn’t do something.

So why did he feel so shitty?

He could hear Sengoku in the back of his head. Sengoku praising his sense of justice and saying that he had never met someone with such strong morals.

He almost vomited bile again.

“Cora? Are you in there?”

Rosinante didn’t bother biting back the frustrated groan. It was one of the kids no doubt. He couldn’t tell which one because the voice was muffled by the bathroom door and the sound of the shower, but it was one of them. They were the only people in the Family who called him that.

“What?” he snapped, finally deciding to get a hold of himself and wash away the bloody soapsuds.

He swore that if there was a voice that said the “Young Master” wanted to see him, he was going to gouge his eyes out with his fingernails.

Couldn’t Doffy just leave him the fuck alone for five minutes?

“Nothing!”

He stared ahead at the wall and waited for the punchline or the other shoe to drop.

But it didn’t?

His brows furrowed. That was odd. Beyond odd. Way too fucking odd.

Shit. Did Doffy suspect something? Did he send one of the kids to find him so he could come slit his throat when he was least suspecting? Was his own brother going to kill him when he was naked and in the shower?

He wouldn’t put it past Doffy to do something sick like that. He would probably even get off on it.

Rosinante tried to be quick about rinsing off and did his absolute best to avoid slipping and cracking his head on the wall on his way out.

He wrapped a white towel around his waist and took brisk steps to the bathroom door and yanked it open. His heart pounded in his ears and his pulse quickened. Clouds of steam billowed out of the bathroom and flooded the clubhouse’s narrow hallway.

Buffalo and Law stood there, blinking up at him as if he had six heads.

“What the hell do you brats need?” he asked a little breathlessly.

“O-oh nothing, Cora!” Buffalo squeaked. He took a step back and held his hands up like he expected a beating. “Young Master only wanted to know if you got back yet because he hadn’t seen you! I’ll let him know you’re home!”

Buffalo _bolted_ down the corridor and Rosinante just stared, dumbfounded, as the kid tripped over himself and tumbled to the floor, barely missing the stairs.

Rosinante’s expression must have looked meaner than he realized.

Well. Maybe that or the fact that his face was clean of any makeup and the kids hadn’t seen him barefaced before. Buffalo could become a skittish thing when Rosinante looked particularly pissed off after all. Seeing him glare with a clean face probably scared the shit out of him.

“You shouldn’t take such hot showers. It isn’t good for your skin.”

Rosinante’s gaze flickered to Law.

“Huh?”

Law looked perpetually bored. He just stared at Rosinante blankly and pointed to the center of his chest.

“Your body is bright red.”

Rosinante didn’t spare his skin a glance. He only looked at Law.

What the hell?

He snorted and said a sarcastic, “all right then. Because a little brat like yourself would know what’s good for me.”

Law’s mouth pursed into a tight line and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

There was a sharp pang of guilt. It was a knife curling into his gut and Rosinante sighed in spite of himself.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he admitted.

“I don’t give a shit,” Law hissed. He walked away with his eyes shadowed by his hat and Rosinante pressed his shoulder against the doorframe. He watched Law leave and couldn’t help but notice the white blotches on his skin.

They were getting worse.

Law was a rude little boy. A pest that needed a good ass kicking, especially after that whole stabbing incident.

Yet Rosinante couldn’t help but feel a touch of sympathy for the kid.

He sighed and disappeared back into the bathroom to dress and towel dry his blond hair.

It hung in wet locks around his temples and cheekbones. When his hair was wet it almost looked brown. There had once been a time when he first ran away from his brother where he actually considered dying his hair black or brown, as another way to hide from Doffy. But he couldn’t bear the thought of parting with his fair hair. It was something of his mother. Something of his father. And as a little kid, he almost cried at the thought of losing that minuscule tie to his parents.

Sengoku had simply patted him on the back and told him he didn’t have to change his hair if he didn’t want to because he would protect him.

Sengoku had protected Rosinante all those years ago and all he had done was throw it back in his face.

He was a sham.

He left the bathroom after that and stopped by his room only to pick up his cigarettes, only to find that not even smoking calmed his nerves.

He would have to report to Doffy soon, especially now that Buffalo told him that he was back from the hit.

Rosinante had a headache. One that could probably be soothed with some sleep if only it wasn’t raining.

It was getting a little ridiculous at this point. Rosinante was beyond running on fumes and if he didn’t sleep soon he was going to walk right up to Doffy, tell him he was an undercover FBI agent, and let his brother tear him to shreds until he was a mangled pile of flesh and blood on the floor.

In all of his self pity, he didn’t notice the hanging light fixture in the middle of the second floor hallway and proceeded to stroll right into it.

“Mother fu—”

He stopped cursing when his cigarette fell out of his mouth and groaned in complete and absolute frustration.

Once the pain dulled in his forehead from the light fixture, he paused where he stood in the little hall.

He didn’t want to go back to his room. He would just be forced to lay in his bed and listen to the horrendous sounds of rain against his window. He couldn’t go to the card room because that was where most of the Family chose to spend their free time. And he didn’t necessarily want to go sit outside on the porch again. He’d had enough of listening to the rain in the darkness.

So that left the second floor common room.

It wasn’t really a common room anymore. Doffy converted it into a sort of library.

There weren’t any bookshelves, but there were stacks upon stacks of books. Reading was one thing Doffy genuinely liked, so it came as no surprise to Rosinante when his brother decided to start leaving books in there until it essentially became a library.

And as far as Rosinante knew, no one in the Family gave a shit about reading except for Doffy. So most of the time the room was either empty or Doffy was alone in there.

Not to mention, the best part of the makeshift library was that it was an interior room without any windows.

Meaning Rosinante would be free of the rain.

Shit, maybe he could get some sleep in there. He didn’t care if he had to sleep propped up against a wall or on the floor with his jacket as a pillow. If it meant he could get some shut-eye, then hell yeah. He’d deal with some kinks in his back.

Rosinante was almost grinning as he marched down the hall and entered the last door on the left.

It had been days since he slept. He was so stupid for not thinking about sleeping in there sooner!

The common room was exactly as he remembered it. There were countless stacks of books, really shitty lighting, and a single ripped, leather sofa pressed against the back wall. The walls were the same ugly red and that same nasty throw rug that had never been vacuumed was still in the center of the floor. It was absolutely beautiful! The perfect place for him to get some much needed rest. Nothing but books, Law, and most importantly, no goddamn—

…Law?

Rosinante halted in the doorway and blinked as if that would make the kid just disappear, and glanced over at the sofa to see Law seated on it with a book in his lap.

“What do you want, Corazón?” Law asked without looking up.

Rosinante wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt such disappointment before in his life.

Which okay, sure. That was a bit of an exaggeration. But he was just so _tired_ and all he wanted to do was _sleep_ and just when he thought he’d found a solution, it had been _ripped_ from his grasp.

“What are you doing here?” Rosinante blurted, unable to hide his disappointment.

Law looked away from his book with an eyebrow arched above the other.

“Reading?”

Rosinante’s shoulders deflated in defeat.

You know what? It was fine.

Forget the brat.

Law didn’t make a lot of noise. He wasn’t obnoxious like Buffalo. He didn’t talk a lot like Baby 5. And he didn’t cry like Dellinger. He was a quiet kid who kept to himself.

So long as he didn’t stab him again, Rosinante didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t bother looking at Law again. He simply walked deeper into the room, shrugged off his feathered jacket, and deposited it against the wall opposite of the sofa. He then lowered himself to the floor and folded his hands behind his neck, resting his head against his jacket and closing his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing, Corazón?” Law snapped.

Rosinante ignored him and waited for the sweet release of sleep to claim him and drag him into blackness.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Maybe if he was lucky he wouldn’t have any dreams. Maybe he would get six whole blissful hours of—

“You can’t just take a nap here, Dumbass! I’m trying to read and I don’t feel like listening to you snore!”

Rosinante’s eyes snapped open and he propped himself up on his elbow to give Law the harshest, nastiest glare he could muster.

“I haven’t slept in a fucking week, Brat. A _week_. So just shut the hell up and leave me alone. Otherwise, you can get the fuck out. Got it?”

It would have done the trick for Buffalo or Baby 5. They would have gotten the hint and scurried out of there.

But not Law.

Oh no. Never Law.

“It’s not my fault you’re some freak who can’t sleep when it’s raining! Go find some place else!”

Rosinante locked his jaw so hard that he probably could have dislocated it because this was it. This was the moment where he finally snapped and killed a kid.

“There _is_ nowhere else,” he hissed through his teeth. He was giving himself a headache with how irritated he was becoming.

Law stared him down. Not even remotely intimidated.

“Not my problem.”

Rosinante just _seethed_ and sat up until he could cross his legs and lean forward with an ominous scowl.

“Do you talk to the other executives like this? Or is it just me? Because in case you didn’t know, I’m Doffy’s actual brother. So if you should be scared of _anyone_ , it should be me.”

Law didn’t even bat an eye. He just gave him that same bored look from before, from when he and Buffalo interrupted Rosinante’s shower.

“Oh yeah?” Law quipped.

Rosinante was going to throttle the fucking kid.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Law fell into silence and Rosinante waited for another insult. Some stupid comment that made fun of his clumsiness or called him an idiot.

It never came though.

So Rosinante took that as a good sign and decided that maybe Law _could_ take a hint and he reclined back down and closed his eyes.

“You’re not like the others.”

Rosinante’s eyes fluttered open again, but this time it wasn’t out of anger. More so out of confusion.

“What was that?” he asked, still on his back, now staring at the ceiling.

“The others would have told Doffy but you didn’t. You’re different.”

Rosinante’s body went very still.

The ceiling had some black smudges on it and a water stain in the one corner. He wondered if maybe they should do something about it. Then again, Doffy never said the clubhouse would be permanent. But still. If there were leaky pipes, then maybe they should at least look at it.

“I got no interest in Doffy skinning a kid alive,” Rosinante said.

“But why? I tried to kill you.”

Rosinante smirked and gentle laughter bubbled in his chest.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a little shank to kill me.”

Silence.

Beautiful, wonderful, _incredible_ silence. Silence that was sweeter than honey. Silence that was comfortable and warm. The ideal silence that he could lull himself to sleep in despite the rain.

Only now he wasn’t so sure he was ready to go to sleep.

So that was how it was gonna be, huh?

Rosinante sighed in defeat and sat up again. This time he rested his back against the wall and brought one knee up to rest his arm against.

“How long you been sick, Law?” he asked as gently as he knew how.

Law glared at him but he answered anyway with a tight, “always.”

“How do we cure you?” Rosinante asked. He was careful about how much silence he let linger between them. He didn’t want to risk losing Law to some traumatic flashback because of it.

He knew firsthand how easy that sorta thing could spiral.

Law scoffed. It was an angry, hateful sound. It sounded so much like Doffy that it almost hurt.

“Don’t you know what I’m sick with?”

“Amber Lead Syndrome,” Rosinante answered without missing a beat.

“Right,” Law said. His hands clutched at the book until Rosinante could hear pages beginning to crumple. “There is no cure. I’ll be dead in two years.”

Rosinante didn’t quite believe that. He knew the rumors about the amber lead. He knew all about the government cover up. He knew that people thought it was some contagious disease and that anyone from Flevance needed to be eradicated. He knew the blemishes of the government and the footnotes in the history books. He knew it was all a lie and was, in fact, a disease brought on by generations of greed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Doffy’s got all sorts of contacts. I bet we could find someone or something that could help.”

He could see Law’s hands trembling from across the room and Rosinante stopped himself from going on any further.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing. So don’t even bother. Everyone thinks it’s a waste of time and they’re right.”

Law’s voice was so small. So broken.

So young.

“…I don’t think it’s a waste of time.”

His words must have had _some_ type of effect on Law because he looked down just enough that his hat cast a shadow over his eyes. Rosinante could see his hands tremble and his lower lip almost quiver.

Law stood up from the sofa, quiet as a mouse, and closed his book. He tucked it under his arm and took calculated steps to the door.

“You should sleep, Corazón. It doesn’t look like the rain is going to stop anytime soon and you should be getting at least eight hours a night.”

Law left after that and Rosinante lingered alone in his silence. He smoked a few cigarettes and rested his head against the wall, but did not try to go back to sleep again. How could he after that conversation?

There had to be some way to help Law. Right?

He was too young to be all alone and doomed like that.

Rosinante didn’t think much of it after that. He hopped into action and stood up, left the library, and made his way to his brother’s room.

He didn’t knock and he really should have considering what happened last time (then again, Doffy _did_ tell him to come in last time) but it was too late, and Rosinante was already pushing his brother’s door open.

Thankfully, Doffy was fully clothed this time and was stretched out on his bed with a book in his hands. So perfectly similar to the way Law had been.

“It’s about time you saw me. How long were you in the shower? Over an hour?” Doffy didn’t look up from his book and Rosinante didn’t care.

“I want to find a cure for Law’s disease.”

Well. No point in beating around the bush. Especially not with Doffy.

His brother rested his book on his lap and looked in Rosinante’s direction. His mouth was relaxed. There was no maniacal grin or livid frown on his face. Just a neutral expression that curdled Rosinante’s blood.

“Come again?”

“Doffy, you have to have some sort of information. There has to be something that could help, right? Don’t you know any crazy doctors with cutting edge research or—”

“Stop talking, Rosi.”

Rosinante did not like it when his brother used that name for him. He much preferred it when Doffy called him Corazón or his full name, but never the nickname. It wasn’t fair for him to bastardize something so precious.

“Why the sudden interest in Law?”

Rosinante didn’t have an answer ready. Didn’t have a lie that he could pull out of the blue. All he had was the truth.

The truth that Trafalgar Law stabbed him in the hopes of killing him all because he was an angry, _dying_ kid and Rosinante’s heart ached for him.

“I don’t know but I want to help him,” Rosinante said. It wasn’t totally false. He didn’t know why he felt so bad for the kid. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Doffy gave a heavy sigh.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft,” he complained. He grabbed a bottle of wine and took a swig without pouring a glass. “If I look into it, will you drop the attitude and stop giving me shit when you don’t like your jobs? I can’t deal with your puppy dog eyes anymore.”

Rosinante didn’t realize that his sour attitude bothered his brother at all.

Interesting.

“I’ll drop the attitude,” he said with the beginnings of a smile.

Red wine trickled from Doffy’s lips as he drank from the bottle. It would have stained his shirt had it been white and not black, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Fine. I’ll look into it.”

Rosinante’s face split into a smile. Like an actual, real smile. Something he hadn’t genuinely experienced since before he joined the Family and holy shit did it feel good. He felt like he’d just seen the sun for the first time in his life. Like he’d just seen the ocean.

Doffy snickered, “look at you. You’re such an idiot. You’re really that happy? Was that all it took? Shit, I would have done something sooner if I knew.”

He didn’t know. He had no idea if he was that happy or not. But hell, he was smiling and his chest _fluttered_.

He would help Law one way or another.

He couldn’t save the other children but maybe he could save Law.

And then once the brat was all cured, Rosinante would help him live a normal fucking life, far away from the Family and Doflamingo. Far away from the hell they’d all inflicted. Far away from the constant reminders of burning cities and deadly diseases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Rosi's mom tells him about dust specks is actually taken right from what my best friend's dad used to tell her when she was a kid. Thought it was a sweet little story to include(:
> 
> Next chapter will be up next weekend! Studying for my licensing exam is kicking my ass so only one update this week. Thank you so so so sooooooo much for all the AMAZINGLY sweet comments! Honestly didn't think I would get any since the Dressrosa arc has been over for quite some time now.
> 
> Anywho! Drop any and all feedback with a comment down below! I always read/respond to them and appreciate them so much<3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 1000000% sure that there are typos in here and I apologize in advance for that. I spent all day yesterday rewriting this chapter because I hated it (and still kinda do) lmao. So again, sorry for the typos and I'll correct them as the week goes on!

Rosinante’s ears were ringing. His mouth was dry. His lungs itched.

He needed a cigarette.

“I think he’s waking up.”

“Oh thank the blues.”

“Can someone page Dr. Kureha?”

He blinked and started to rub at his eyes.

Why was it so bright? His apartment never had this much light in it? He preferred to rely on the natural light rather than have all the lamps on. And since when were his lights so fucking _white_? Did Sengoku do that? Garp maybe?

“Rosinante?”

He rubbed his eyes a little longer and blinked away the dryness. Once he did, the first thing that came into focus was a man with circular glasses and silver hair with a silver braided beard to match.

“Sengoku? Turn the lights down, would you?” Rosinante groaned. He covered his eyes and added a quick, “and can you pass me my cigarettes?”

“Who you giving orders to, Punk?”

He was smacked upside the head and Rosinante actually _whined_ and moved his hands away from his eyes to rub his head.

“Um! Please refrain from hitting the patient!”

Rosinante narrowed his eyes against that god awful white lighting and looked around to see Garp on his left and Sengoku on his right.

He shot a scowl at Garp, ready to tell him he was too old for this bullshit but stopped himself when the rest of the room came into focus.

The white lights made sense then. No wonder.

He was in a hospital room. That’s why the lights were so harsh, why the walls were a soft cream, and why he was in a bed that was a little too small for him. That’s why he could smell antiseptic in the air and why Garp and Sengoku were on either side of him.

“What happened?”

“What happened was that you were drugged,” a new voice answered.

Rosinante watched an elderly woman in a white coat enter his little hospital room. Her face was covered in wrinkles, she wore a wicked grin, and her eyes sparkled with a sense of knowledge that radiated off of her.

Pushing himself away from the wall once she walked in was another doctor in a white coat. He was much younger, probably not even twenty-five. He was smaller and had a head of bushy brown hair and big deer-like eyes. He just barely reached the woman’s shoulder but he had a sort of determined look on his face that Rosinante could appreciate.

“It’s a good thing you’re so damn big. Otherwise, those drugs would have been the end of you. They would have killed a normal person twice over,” the woman continued. She grinned at Rosinante and held her hand out to him, shaking it with an astounding grip for someone her age.

“I’m Dr. Kureha and this is my fellow, Dr. Tony Chopper.”

His head was spinning.

“Who the hell drugged you, Brat? What the hell were you doing that someone even had that opportunity?” Garp asked, placing his hand at the back of Rosinante’s neck in a firm grip.

He didn’t even have to think about it. He already knew.

The bar. Monet. The shot she insisted he take. The bourbon with the flecks of gold—the flecks of gold that had mysteriously been absent from his own glass when they’d been obvious in hers.

Then he remembered the pain he’d been in that morning. The way he gagged and whimpered for relief. The way he could barely stand because it had all been too much.

“What about my chest?”

Dr. Kureha tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes into slits.

“What do you mean?”

“My chest,” Rosinante reiterated. He pressed his hand against his sternum and waited for that horrible twinge to appear but it never did. There might have been a gentle breath of pain or a soft whisper. The usual phantom pain even.

But that tangible, overwhelming throbbing from earlier that morning?

It was gone.

He could feel his brows narrow in confusion and he tugged on the collar of his hospital gown to look down at his torso. It was clean. Just the usual map of disfiguration. Just the standard mottled flesh and warped scars.

“There’s nothing,” he whispered beneath his breath, more so to himself than to the doctors.

“We were just as confused as you were,” Sengoku said. “You were having such a fit about it that we thought someone mutilated you. But when we looked, you were fine.”

Sengoku’s hand was on his shoulder again, a welcome anchor to keep him grounded in the present.

“The drugs put your body under a lot of stress. It’s possible the stress triggered a sort of PTSD flashback and that’s where the pain came from,” the younger doctor, Dr. Chopper, said.

Rosinante didn’t think that was quite right. He could remember the pain from Minion Island and how debilitating it had been. But that pain didn’t match what he’d felt that morning. The pain from the island had come almost exclusively from his fear and concern for Law and not from the actual injuries themselves.

It didn’t make sense. It had been so real.

His fingers trembled.

Fucking hell. All he wanted was a cigarette.

“Oh,” Rosinante muttered. “Well that’s good, I guess? Is there any way we can hurry up and get me out of here? I could really use a smoke.”

Dr. Kureha laughed so hard that she might as well have been a witch cackling.

“ _Smoke?_ Are you out of your damn mind? Do you have any idea what the state of your heart and lungs are?”

Rosinante stared at her as the sensation of trembling in his fingers blossomed to the rest of his hands.

“It’s fine. Can we just—”

“It’s _not_ fine,” Dr. Kureha said abruptly. “The CT doesn’t lie. I’ve already sent your results over to our cardiothoracic surgeon. I’ll let him lecture you once he gets out of surgery. It’s a goddamn miracle you’ve made it this long without any serious health issues. I mean honestly. He’s probably going to have a damn aneurysm when he looks at them and hears you’re a chain smoker.”

From the corner of his eye, Rosinante could see Sengoku bristle.

Oh. If only Dr. Kureha knew the full story.

“Listen, I appreciate this but I’ve already had a cardiothoracic surgeon poke around inside my chest and it was not a great experience so—”

Kureha walked over to the side of his bed and muscled Garp away from him, wagging her finger in his face and saying, “don’t you sass me. I don’t care how important you think you are. The fact is that you’re lucky to be alive and your heart and lungs are in piss poor condition. It would go against any doctor’s moral code to let you just waltz out of here.”

Rosinante sighed and clenched his fingers in and out of fists as they shook.

He looked away from Kureha and at Sengoku instead.

“Thoughts?” he asked tiredly.

There was something on Sengoku’s face that Rosinante couldn’t decipher. He seemed torn. That much was evident by the tautness in his shoulders and straightness of his mouth. But he avoided Rosinante and looked at Garp instead.

He was hiding something.

“If this surgeon sees him, how long is he gonna be stuck here? We need him in a courtroom first thing tomorrow morning.”

Garp.

Rosinante narrowed his eyes and shot a glance at where Garp was now directing the questions at Kureha. But then he looked back at Sengoku to see that the man had backed away from Rosinante’s bed and leaned against the pale wall. He had his eyes closed and refused to spare a glance at Rosinante.

What the hell?

“Does this courtroom really take precedence over his health?” Kureha retorted.

“Yes.”

The answer came in unison from both Garp and Rosinante, but when he looked at Sengoku, the man looked even more distressed.

Kureha glared at Garp and Rosinante for a few seconds but conceded with a frustrated sigh.

“Can I convince you to stay for a quick consult at the very least? We’ll get all of your paperwork ready and you can leave after that. Otherwise, you’re going to have to sign a form that says you’re refusing medical treatment.”

“How quick is ‘quick’?” Rosinante asked. He knew from his past experience with surgeons that “quick” was not always as fast as it implied and he didn’t want to be stuck in the goddamn hospital for longer than necessary.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that!” Dr. Chopper promised. “We can have you out of here in the next two or three hours.”

Since Sengoku wasn’t looking at him, Rosinante looked at Garp.

“We have time for that?”

Garp shrugged.

“It’s up to you. I suppose it doesn’t matter as long as you’re there tomorrow. It’s only a little after twelve, so there’s time.”

Rosinante gave a heavy sigh.

“All right.”

“Good. In the meantime we’ll do some more bloodwork to check on how much of that drug is still in your system,” Kureha said. She nodded at Dr. Chopper and the two left the room.

Rosinante opened his mouth to call Sengoku out on his strange behavior, only he never got the chance because Sengoku followed the doctors out, saying that he had a quick question and then let the door swing shut behind him.

“What isn’t he telling me?” Rosinante asked Garp right away.

Garp, because of course, had his pinky finger up his nose and just shrugged.

“Eh. You’ll find out in a minute.”

Rosinante stared and waited for Garp to meet his gaze but he didn’t.

“Garp?”

Garp sighed and pulled his hand away from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared down at Rosinante and said a gruff, “I’m telling you that you’ll find out in a minute. I don’t want to—”

The door opened again, only this time it revealed Sengoku (who was pinching the bridge of his nose) and a male nurse with a wild head of red hair that covered his eyes.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Rosinante,” the nurse said. He gave an easy smile and walked over to the bedside with a clipboard. “We’re going to need you to sign this form saying that you’d like to be discharged against medical advice.”

Rosinante narrowed his eyes.

“Huh?”

The nurse looked over at Sengoku in confusion and Rosinante followed suit.

Again. What the actual hell?

“Sengoku, are you sure—” Garp started but Rosinante cut him off.

“I just asked for your opinion and you were radio silent. What the hell? I thought I was staying for a consult with the cardio doc?”

Sengoku nodded at the nurse.

“Sign the papers, Rosi. We’re leaving.”

Not that Rosinante was opposed to leaving, because he wasn’t. He was ready to go outside and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes and sleep off the rest of the drugs in his system before court tomorrow. He was ready to buy the most expensive set of earplugs he could find in case it was raining and get caught up on his piss poor sleep.

But Dr. Kureha was worried about his health and Garp seemed to be too since he wasn’t so outwardly against staying. And hell, even though Sengoku had masked his expression, Rosinante could see the worry as plain as day on the man’s face.

He was like a father after all. Rosinante would have to be stupid not to notice how scared Sengoku really was.

“Why?”

“Um,” the nurse hummed. “As an RN I really have to recommend that you stay. Dr. Kureha wouldn’t disturb any of the surgeons immediately after surgery unless she thought it was severe. And she definitely wouldn’t risk interrupting Dr. Tr—”

“Sign the damn papers, Rosinante,” Sengoku insisted.

Rosinante huffed and grabbed the clipboard from the nurse. His eyes briefly scanned the legal wording that said the hospital would not be held liable and signed the line at the bottom of the form before handing it back.

His eyes then landed on the nurse’s badge.

“Sorry for the confusion, Shachi,” Rosinante said tightly. “We’re all a little stressed out.”

Shachi took the papers back and lingered.

“I’ll go get your discharge paperwork ready. You can sit here in the meantime and then we’ll pull your IVs in just a bit, okay?”

Rosinante nodded, suddenly feeling very tired but then Sengoku spoke up again.

“How long will this take? We need to get going.”

Shachi fiddled with the clipboard.

“Well, it depends. We first have to—”

“Just be quick about it.”

Rosinante stared at Sengoku in disbelief.

That was unlike him. Sengoku was usually up his ass about his health and doctor’s appointments. Sengoku was usually yelling at him about needing to take better care of himself. Sengoku was usually the first person to shout at Rosi and tell him that he needed to go for regular checkups after the incident.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Rosinante finally blurted.

“Nothing,” Sengoku said. “I’m simply trying to make sure you make it through this mess and being in a hospital where your brother could have lackeys is not—”

“It’s a little late to worry about Doflamingo finding me,” Rosinante said. “He was at a bar by my apartment the other night and he must have contacts there because it was the bartender who drugged me.”

“What the hell were you doing at a bar, you little punk?” Garp said, immediately slinging an arm around Rosinante’s neck and putting him in a headlock.

Rosinante gritted his teeth and wriggled in Garp’s hold.

“I haven’t been sleeping and thought a drink might help,” he said through his teeth. The pain of the headlock jolted through his neck and shoulders and he was five seconds away from punching Garp in the stomach.

“If you haven’t been sleeping you should have said something and someone would have gotten you meds,” Garp retorted.

“Leave him alone, Garp,” Sengoku said with a tired sigh. “It’s been raining.”

It was all that needed to be said and Garp let him go.

Rosinante rubbed the back of his neck and glowered.

“Do you want to know about this bar or not?”

“Tell us everything.”

He did.

Recounting the story was a good way to pass the time. Rosinante’s memory may have been hazy, but he could still put everything together. He told them everything he knew. About the bar itself, about Monet, about Doffy having been there, about the drugged bourbon. He told them everything.

Everything except his memory of seeing a feathery shadow by his window.

Because that was probably just a drug-induced hallucination after all.

…Yeah. Just a hallucination.

Garp let exactly zero time pass between the end of Rosinante’s story and making a phone call to the Bureau to send agents to check out the bar. And Sengoku only looked more uncomfortable, veins straining themselves in his neck as he worked through the story.

“We’ll send someone to guard your apartment tonight,” Sengoku said.

“Fine by me,” Rosinante said back.

His eyes fluttered shut and he curled his fingers into a fist again, clenching and unclenching to combat the shaking. The breaths he took were uneven and his lungs rattled. He either needed a cigarette or a shot of bourbon—probably both at this point.

Just one more day. One more day and then he could finally give his testimony and send his brother to Impel Down.

He could do anything for one more day.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” Sengoku said, excusing himself from the room.

Rosinante kept his eyes shut and drifted into a shallow sleep as he waited for one of the nurses to come in and remove his IVs so he could get dressed and leave.

He still didn’t feel right about leaving so abruptly, especially not after what Kureha said about his heart and lungs, but who was he to argue with Sengoku?

Sengoku did everything for a reason. And if he wanted Rosinante to get the hell out of the hospital sooner rather than later? Then fine. Rosinante could live with that. He trusted Sengoku after all.

He owed him that much.

Then, just as he was about to fall into a deep, blissful sleep, he was woken up by someone coming into his room, saying his name, and removing his IVs.

Well, that was quick…

He couldn’t register anything the nurse said. It wasn’t Shachi this time, but someone else, a woman with curly brown hair and full, pouty lips.

She went over the disclaimer that he was leaving against medical consent, told him to come back if he changed his mind, and handed him paperwork to sign before he could get dressed and finally leave.

Then, when it was all said and done, he was back in his clothes from the night before and was getting ready to leave, accompanied by Garp and Sengoku.

His clothes were stiff from the dried rainwater, making it uncomfortable to walk around. His pants were tough against his thighs and every time his shirt brushed against his sternum he flinched.

He walked by the nurses’ station with Sengoku and Garp flanking either side of him. Only a few more moments and then he would be free to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes without anyone guilt-tripping him.

So what if his lungs were fucked? Dr. Kureha said they were in awful condition and you know what? So long as Rosinante could testify against his brother, he didn’t care. If he died from smoking then so be it.

Just as long as Doffy went down with him.

Rosinante’s eyes flickered around the hospital thanks to that growing sense of paranoia. He doubted Doffy had any contacts working there, but also wouldn’t put it past him. If he had people working at a random, shitty bar in the middle of the city, then who was to say he didn’t have someone working in one of the hospitals?

A doctor walked towards Rosinante. He was a tall, lanky thing with a head of dark hair, scrutinizing something on a clipboard with a curled lip. He was in a pair of dark blue scrubs and had a surgical cap on that was black with white swirling hearts on it. And he clearly wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings because he almost walked into a nurse while he stared at his clipboard with furious eyes.

Rosinante absentmindedly wondered if all of this hospital’s doctors were intimidating. Kureha had been one thing, she was almost witch-like. But this guy? He looked ready to end someone’s life if they looked at him the wrong way.

As the doctor got closer, Rosinante stepped to the side to avoid him, but somehow the doctor still ended up harshly bumping shoulders with him.

“Sorry,” Rosinante said quickly.

The doctor’s eyes flashed up to his face, probably ready to rip him a new one.

But once their gazes met, Rosinante halted. There was something strangely familiar about his eyes. His irises were black and were surrounded by a unique gold ring. He knew those eyes from somewhere.

Didn’t he…?

“Let’s _go_ ,” Sengoku said abruptly when Rosinante lingered a moment longer.

The look of murder on the doctor’s face dissipated and was replaced with something else. Something confused and lost. Something—

Sengoku’s hand planted itself between Rosinante’s shoulder blades and pushed until he was walking again.

Rosinante tore his eyes away from the doctor and let his legs carry him down the hall.

But he looked over his shoulder one last time, overcome with burning curiosity.

The doctor was still staring at him with that wild look in his eyes. He stood frozen in the middle of the hallway and watched where Rosinante was being pushed away by Sengoku.

And just as Rosinante was about to turn away, he saw the doctor drop the clipboard and stumble back against the wall. Face white as if he’d seen a ghost.

* * *

**_14 years ago_ **

Law’s face was ashen and it made Rosinante sick to his stomach.

The boy coughed until his shoulders shook and his lungs rattled. He curled into himself in the passenger’s seat of Rosinante’s car and his hands curled into little fists.

“Should I take you to a hospital?” Rosinante asked carefully when the coughing fit ended.

“What? No,” Law retorted. He coughed again and Rosinante’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We’re on a job.”

They were and Rosinante didn’t care.

Currently, he and Law were out following one of Doffy’s rivals. The guy was a drug dealer from the North and was stepping in on Doffy’s territory. Rosinante was tasked with tracking the guy down to figure out where he lived and then with Law’s help, was supposed to set the guy’s house on fire to prove a point.

“I don’t give a shit about the job. You need a doctor,” Rosinante said.

Law rolled his eyes.

“There’s no doctor on the planet who can help me.”

Rosinante could taste something sour on his tongue.

Doffy promised him six months ago that he would reach out to his sources to try and find a cure for Law, but so far it had been to no avail. Law was still sick and no matter what Rosinante did, he wouldn’t improve.

Rosinante followed him around like a mother hen. He piled blankets on the boy while he slept, brought him tea when his coughing spells wouldn’t cease, and gave him aspirin when the pain was so bad that Law’s eyes would water.

Was it overbearing? Probably. Did Law hate it? Most likely. Did Rosinante care?

No. Not at all.

Law gave a tired sigh and the sound of wetness in his lungs filled the car and then just like that, he doubled over in a coughing fit again.

Rosinante gritted his teeth and put the car in drive.

Doffy’s rival be damned. Rosinante could set his house on fire another day.

“Where the hell are you going?” Law asked when they started to pull out of the alley.

“To a hospital.”

“Are you stupid? Doflamingo is going to tear us apart if—”

“Leave Doffy to me,” Rosinante said.

His tone left no room for argument but Law was not one to back down so easily. Not ever.

“Don’t be an idiot, Corazón! If you take me to a hospital they’re just going to throw me out or lock me in quarantine and then call the government to come exterminate me!” Law shouted.

Rosinante could see the boy’s nasty scowl through his peripheral vision and it was a frightening sight. Not because of how scary it was, but because of how much he looked like Doffy when he glared like that.

Rosinante swore that he would never let Law become his brother.

“They’re doctors, Law. They have to help you,” he said.

“I’m telling you they won’t!”

Rosinante glanced at Law. The boy’s dark eyes were bloodshot and the tension that radiated from him was almost palpable. Frustration pulsed off him in waves.

Fucking hell. He had moments where he looked so much like Doffy that it hurt.

“I’ll be there the whole time. So if someone wants to try something stupid then I’ll break their fuckin’ fingers one by one, okay?”

Law scoffed and crossed his arms, muttering a barely audible, “stupid clown.”

Wanting to do something to make the boy lighten up, Rosinante reached over and set one hand on the top of Law’s head and pushed his hat down into his eyes. Law immediately starting shouting at him about how stupid he was but Rosinante could only smile.

They reached the hospital in twenty minutes.

Surprisingly enough, Law stuck close to Rosinante’s side. He kept his head low and made sure his hat shadowed his eyes, just in case someone should spare a glance at his speckled skin.

Which coincidentally is exactly what happened, and that was how Rosinante and Law skipped the waiting room and got taken back for an examination right away.

And it all went downhill from there.

The doctor who came in to examine Law took one look at him and then proceeded to throw a bloody fucking fit, telling one of the nurses to call the police and to put the hospital on lockdown. He yelped when he looked at Law, said they were going to die unless Law was dealt with and that was when Rosinante had enough.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Rosinante snapped at the doctor. He stood up, the stool he’d been sitting on clattering to the floor, and grabbed the man by his white coat and got right in his face.

“He’s contagious! The disease will spread and kill us all! I’m trying to do you a favor!”

Rosinante stared in disbelief.

“He’s a _child_ who’s sick and needs medical attention, Jackass!”

The doctor wasn’t convinced. He kept staring past Rosinante at where Law was sitting on the end of the examination table.

Rosinante followed the man’s eyes. Law’s head hung low and there was a downward curve to his mouth that broke Rosinante’s heart into a million little pieces.

He looked back at the doctor and saw a haze of red.

“Fine! We’ll leave,” Rosinante snarled.

He shoved the doctor back with enough force that the man fell to the floor. And then, just to make sure he fully got his point across, sauntered over to the man and grabbed him by the throat.

“If I find out that you told _anyone_ , I’ll personally come back here and break every single one of your fucking knuckles one at a time. Are we clear?”

The man whimpered and nodded, eyes glassy and watering until Rosinante finally backed off and nodded at Law.

“Come on, Law. Fuck this place. We’re going home.”

Law didn’t argue with him and accompanied him in total silence back to the car.

He didn’t speak the whole drive back. No matter how many times Rosinante tried to make light of the situation, no matter how many times Rosinante told him it was just a shitty hospital… It didn’t work. Law was dead silent on the matter and it made Rosinante wish he’d never come up with the stupid idea in the first place.

The rain had started to fall by the time they arrived back at the clubhouse. Rosinante cringed as the sound of it against his car windows filled his ears and let out a sigh in spite of himself.

“What is it with you and the rain?” Law asked.

It was the first time since they left the hospital that he’d spoken and the fact that Law was willing to talk to him again after that disaster filled Rosinante with an undeniable sense of relief.

“You don’t want to know that. It’s too depressing,” Rosinante admitted. He pulled his car around the back of the clubhouse and produced a cigarette once they were parked. He cracked a window and lit it, trying to delay the inevitable moment where he went inside and told Doffy that he didn’t complete the job.

Law snorted, “try me.”

Rosinante held the smoke in his lungs.

Law didn’t jump out of the car right away. He simply unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed his legs beneath him as he looked at Rosinante with an exhausted expression.

Rosinante blew the smoke out of the little window crack.

_“Mom’s been sleeping a lot. Hasn’t she?” Rosinante asked softly. The sound of the rain filled the little shack that he, his brother, and his parents all lived in and after so many days, it was starting to give young Rosinante a headache._

_“She’s sick. She has to sleep if she’s going to get better,” Doffy muttered._

_“I don’t know how she can with the rain. It’s so loud,” Rosinante complained. He brought his knees up to his chest and watched his father help their mother sit up in their bed long enough to drink broth from a cracked cup._

_She looked so frail. So different from when they still lived in Mariejois._

_“Who knows. She must like it though since that’s the only time she sleeps.”_

Rosinante could still smell the shack. He could still smell mold that settled into the corners of the makeshift home. He could still smell the dampness in the air.

“My mother died in the rain,” Rosinante said as nonchalantly as he could possibly manage. “She was sick and would only sleep when it was raining. When she died, it was storming.”

Law was quiet for a moment and Rosinante watched raindrops slide down the driver’s window.

_The clock was stuck at 3:02am and Rosinante’s eyes burned as he stared at it._

_She was gone._

_Just like that._

_She went to sleep during a peaceful sun shower, only to fade away forever during a thunderstorm._

_It wasn’t right._

“Seems kinda dumb,” Law mumbled.

Rosinante shot Law a half-hearted glare.

“Brat.”

“Clown.”

He let out a deep breath of smoke and continued, “that’s just one of the reasons.”

“What are the others?” Law asked, voice softer than before.

An image flashed behind Rosinante’s eyes. An image of him clutching onto his father’s shirt, of begging with his brother, of a _bang,_ and a splatter of crimson.

“…Don’t worry about it.”

There was another image there. One of Doffy walking away with shadowy figures.

“I’m not worried. I was just asking,” Law retorted.

Rosinante looked back over at the kid, ready to bust on him a little bit, but when he got a good look at Law, his heart leapt into the back of his throat.

The white splotches on Law’s skin were growing more and more with each day. Whereas before they were confined mainly to his chest and arms, now they were creeping up his neck and onto his face.

Law stiffened under his eyes and hunched his shoulders forward as if to shield himself.

“I’m sorry about today,” Rosinante said from the bottom of his heart. “I didn’t think they would react like that.”

“I told you,” Law said without meeting his eyes.

“It was just a shitty hospital. We’ll find a better one, okay? We’ll find a doctor that actually gives a shit. I promise. All we have to—”

“It’s fine, Corazón. I’m dying anyway. It doesn’t really matter at this point,” Law said under his breath.

Something ripped through Rosinante’s chest. Something sharp and hot. Something heavy and overwhelming.

He wasn’t sure what it was. He’d never felt anything like it before, but all he knew was that it was triggered by Law saying that he was dying and just like that, he’d been overcome with a fierce protectiveness that smothered all of his other senses.

“Hey,” Rosinante said abruptly. He tossed his cigarette out the window and shifted in his seat so he could better look at Law. “Don’t you _ever_ say that, Law. You got it? You’re _not_ dying. I won’t let you. We’ll find you a doctor who will cure you and then you can put all of this bullshit behind you. Got it?”

Law blinked up at him with wide eyes. Eyes that were a dark charcoal gray, practically black, with a gold ring around them.

But then, just a quickly as it happened, that look on the kid’s face was replaced with his trademark scowl.

“You’re such an idiot!”

“Yeah yeah. You’re not the first to tell me that, Brat.”

Rosinante nodded at Law and got out of the car first.

Despite his black feathered jacket, the rain still found a way to soak through his clothes in a matter of seconds.

Rosinante shrugged his jacket off once they got inside and looked down at where Law was wringing his hat out.

He looked so tired. There were circles under his bloodshot eyes and his whole body seemed to be deflating.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” Rosinante asked, pushing his wet bangs away from his face.

Law shook his head.

“We should go see Young Master.”

Rosinante’s jaw locked.

“No, you need to go to bed,” he said as gently as possible.

Law glared at him yet again.

“Stop being such a fucking _dumbass!_ ”

Rosinante cocked his head to the side as Law berated him for blatantly choosing to ignore the rules of the Family, for disrespecting Doffy so much, and for being an overall “stupid fucking clown” that didn’t have a shred of self preservation.

And once Law’s temper tantrum came to an end, Rosinante plunged his hands into his pockets and said an easy, “feel better?”

Law’s pale cheeks flushed in embarrassment and Rosinante didn’t even try to fight back the grin that sneaked its way onto his face.

“Why are you _smiling?_ ” Law snapped.

“Because I’m a stupid clown and that’s what we do,” Rosinante said with a quiet laugh. Law fumed and stormed off, stomping his feet like the petulant child that he was, muttering curses about how much he detested Rosinante.

It was honestly hilarious and adorable and Rosinante felt warmth spread through his entire chest.

He was a bratty little kid with a horrible temper but that didn’t deter Rosinante. How could it when he was trying to find a cure?

Speaking of…

Law may have been in the middle of a temper tantrum, but he was right. Rosinante still needed to go report to Doffy and tell him about the failed job.

It was late enough in the evening that Doffy was certainly still awake but was likely in his bedroom instead of the card room.

Rosinante made his way there and rested his hand on the doorknob of his brother’s door but paused when he heard voices on the other side.

After walking in on Doffy getting head from a prostitute, Rosinante learned to be careful about when he saw his brother. And fucking hell, if Doffy was planning on doing that again as a way to flex his power, then Rosinante was going to report to him in the morning instead.

But when he listened a little closer, he realized that it was two men talking. His brother and someone else.

Against his better judgment, he lingered.

“…It’s called the Ope-Ope… Enzyme that… I know…”

Rosinante strained his ears as much as he could and leaned closer to the door.

“Says he’s got a year… Rosi thinks…”

Rosinante pushed his ear against the door now, all sense of subtlety out the window.

“We can get the deal of a lifetime for that fruit, Young Master. Law’s a lost cause anyway.”

Trebol…

Rosinante’s blood boiled and against all better judgment, he clenched the doorknob in his fist and swung the door open.

Doffy was sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his temples, listening to Trebol drone on and on when Rosinante so rudely interrupted them.

Trebol jumped at the sudden intrusion and gaped at Rosinante.

“What are you doing, Corazón?”

“What’s this shit about Law being a lost cause?” Rosinante asked. He didn’t spare another glance at Trebol and focused on Doffy instead.

Doffy brought a wine bottle up to his lips and took a long swig before answering.

“I think we may have found something that could help with his disease. It’s a fruit that supposedly has an enzyme in it that can eat away at the toxic buildup in the brat’s system,” Doffy said dully. And as if to make a point, he nodded at Trebol.

The disgusting, sniveling man gave Rosinante a nasty smile that showed off his yellowed, crooked teeth.

“Yes. It’s quite valuable. One of Doffy’s contacts stole it from the feds.”

Rosinante looked back at Doffy.

Something wasn’t right with him.

His brother wasn’t wearing a shirt and despite the ceiling fan blowing on him and the wide open window, Rosinante could see sweat beading along his collarbone.

“Then why are we sitting here? Let’s go get it,” Rosinante deadpanned.

“You shouldn’t speak to Young Master like that,” Trebol said, though Rosinante could hardly hear him with the way everything that wasn’t Doffy melted into a plane of nonexistence.

“Doffy?” Rosinante tried.

Doffy rubbed his temples and put the wine bottle back to his lips, finishing off the rest of the bottle as droplets of red liquid rolled down his chin and neck.

“I have a fucking headache,” Doffy hissed. He rubbed his forehead next and huffed in frustration.

“Come back later, Corazón. Young Master and I are in the middle of a very important discussion.”

“The only reason _Young Master_ knows about this fruit is because I asked him to find something to help Law. So if you two are talking about that, then I have a right to be here,” Rosinante snapped.

He was walking on thin ice with the level of disrespect and sarcasm, and he damn well knew it.

But the sound of them calling Law a lost cause buzzed in his ears and it made that same protective instinct shroud him like a cloak.

“Show some respect,” Trebol hissed.

“To who? You or Doffy? Because in case you didn’t realize, I’m here for him, not you.”

“Corazón, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll—”

“Would you both shut the fuck up?” Doffy cut in. He rubbed his head with one hand and threw the other one out at Trebol. “And close the fucking window! I can’t stand listening to all of this fucking _rain!_ ”

Rosinante froze.

“That’s all it ever fucking does anymore—is fucking _rain_. I’m so fucking _sick_ of it!” Doffy snapped as he clutched the wine bottle in his fingers and threw it across the room.

Trebol sputtered out an apology and hurried over to Doffy’s window and pulled it shut.

Rosinante didn’t apologize at all. He merely worked his jaw as he examined his brother in the warm light.

He was still sweating and his chest was flushed as if he was feverish.

Drugs maybe? Alcohol?

“Since when do you care about the rain?” Rosinante asked in a low voice.

Doffy’s glasses reflected in the light and he looked up at where Rosinante stood a few feet away.

“Don’t you start with me, Rosinante.”

“Start what? It was just a question.”

Doffy’s lip curled into a snarl.

“Did you want something? Or did you just come up here to accuse me of not caring about Law?” Doffy asked. His voice was gruff. So different from how smooth it normally was.

“I came up here to report on my job. It’s not my fault you and Trebol seem to have other plans for Law’s cure,” Rosinante said. He was careful to keep his voice monotone and disinterested, though he knew that Doffy probably saw right through it.

Doffy scoffed and nodded at Trebol.

“Go on then. Tell my brother what you told me.”

Trebol faltered.

“B-but Young Master, are you—”

“Trebol.”

It was all Doffy needed to say to stir the man into action.

“I was telling Young Master that the Ope-Ope fruit is a possible cure for the Amber Lead Syndrome and is worth a substantial amount of money,” Trebol said. He hardly looked at Rosinante as he said it and instead busied himself with fiddling with his blue jacket.

“So what? You’re going to sell it, Doffy?” Rosinante asked.

“Fucking hell, do you _ever_ stop?” Doffy asked. “I told you I would try to find a cure for Law, didn’t I?”

Rosinante kept his mouth shut but nodded.

“And didn’t I just tell you that I found a fucking cure?”

Silence on Rosinante’s part again.

“Exactly. We were talking about how much the thing is worth because that’s the only way we’re going to track it down,” Doffy said. He stood up from the bed and sauntered over to Rosinante until he stood well within his personal bubble. “Is there a particular reason why you can’t seem to trust me, Corazón?”

Chills went down Rosinante’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

If only Sengoku could see him now. What would he say?

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Doffy. I just want to cure Law.”

Doffy’s jaw locked for a long moment. He said nothing. He did nothing.

Rosinante watched dust specks settle on his brother’s rose-tinted glasses.

“Law, Law, Law. Is that the only fucking thing you talk about anymore? A dying little brat with a bad attitude? Is he more important to you than your own brother? Than your own flesh and blood?”

Rosinante’s fight or flight response kicked into overdrive and if he could have bolted out of there without looking suspicious, then he would have done it.

“He’s just a kid, Doffy.”

“And _I’m_ just your brother,” Doffy responded. He brought his hand up to the side of Rosinante’s head and held him there with an iron grip. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re up to something, Rosi?”

Rosinante fixed his face into the best scowl he could muster.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

Doffy didn’t answer him. He just held him there in the deafening silence.

It was probably the first time in Rosinante’s adult life that he actually wished he could hear the rain… Anything would have been preferable to the maddening silence that emanated from his brother.

And then, just like that, Doffy let him go.

“Leave me. Both of you.”

Unlike Trebol, Rosinante didn’t need to be told twice. He got right the fuck out of there while Trebol whined and begged Doffy to let him stay just a little bit longer.

Once he was away from his brother’s room and on his way to the clubhouse’s library, Rosinante sighed and ran his hands over his face.

Doffy was going to snap sooner or later, and Rosinante didn’t want to be anywhere near him when that happened.

His pulse quickened and he felt nauseous.

Doffy was going to do something with that fruit, Rosinante was sure of it. His brother was going to try and sell the thing for every cent it was worth and throw Law under the bus in the process.

And fine. Rosinante might not have expected much else from Doffy, but still. That didn’t make it any easier to digest.

There was one solution. One way to cure Law’s disease and get him out of the Family before Doffy found out that Rosinante was a trader.

They would have to run away and steal the fruit before Doffy could.

All they needed was a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being one day late! I rewrote this entire chapter and it wasn't ready last night. So here you are now!
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you!!(:


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how I feel about this one tbh. Meh.

Rosinante leaned against the counter in his kitchen. Its cool edge bit through his shirt and chilled his lower back as he turned a whiskey glass over in his scarred fingers, letting it catch the light and bring his attention to the dust specks that settled on the rim of the glass.

He locked his jaw. Only a few more hours and he would be entering a courtroom to give his testimony.

He should have felt better about it. After the disaster that was getting drugged last night, he should have been more than excited to put his brother away. He should have been over the moon to tell the court about all of the horrible things Doffy had done.

But he wasn’t.

He just felt scared.

Not surprisingly, his hands shook. Nothing helped either. Not cigarettes. Not bourbon.

Nothing.

Not even knowing that he had two guards outside his apartment did anything to quell his anxiety.

It hadn’t really hit him until a few hours ago—how close to death he’d been. He had walked into a bar that his brother had contacts in, had been drugged by one of them in an attempt to end his life, and had only managed to pull through because he’d been able to get in contact with Sengoku when his regained consciousness.

He really was a walking disaster, wasn’t he?

Rosinante put the glass down and decided against having another bourbon. He left the kitchen and stumbled into his bedroom, all but falling into his bed and staring up at his ceiling fan.

He rubbed his sternum with his thumb. He still couldn’t believe that his pain from that morning hadn’t been real. The pain was so visceral, so tangible.

It didn’t make any sense.

It was still raining. The sound triggered Rosinante’s hands to tremble even more and he sighed and rubbed them across his face.

He would give anything to make it stop.

_“Doffy, please!” Rosinante cried. His violently shaking hands gripped onto his father’s sleeves as he sobbed into his shirt, begging for his brother to stop._

_“This is all your fault,” came Doffy’s voice. Rosinante could just barely hear it over the sound of the rain against the shack. “You ruined everything!”_

_His father’s hands squeezed his shoulders. There was something warm in his hands, something that made Rosinante’s chest feel full as his heart simultaneously began to crack under the pressure of the situation._

_“Doflamingo. Rosinante.”_

_Rosinante cried harder into his father’s shirt._

_“I’m sorry you had to have a father like me.”_

_Then, as quick as a blink, a_ bang _went off._

_Rosinante’s ears rang as his father’s body went limp and collapsed to the side. His blond bangs fell across his eyes but he could still see the splatter of crimson on the floor, in his father’s fair hair, and across Doffy’s face._

_Rosinante took in a breath and let the scream rip free from his body._

_But not even his screams could drown out the sound of the rain._

“Fucking hell,” Rosinante cursed.

He sat up in bed and rested his elbows against his legs and shook his head.

The rain was not even particularly loud. Sure, he could hear it against his window, but it was a quiet rain. Gentle even. It was nothing like the loud, thundering, _relentless_ rain from his childhood memories.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths.

He was going to be fine. Only a few more hours and then he would be able to put everything behind him.

That phantom pain materialized in his chest again. Just above his sternum and around his heart. He rested his hand flat against his chest and felt the beating of his heart beneath his fingertips.

Just one more night… One more night and then he’d finally be free.

* * *

**_14 years ago_ **

“What do you know about this Ope-Ope fruit?” Rosinante asked over the phone.

He could hear Sengoku’s hesitation an instant and that was enough for Rosinante. He pursed his lips and cracked the window of his car, lighting up a cigarette and waiting for an answer.

“…How do you know about that?” Sengoku asked.

Rosinante sucked on his cigarette and relaxed as the bitter smoke filled his mouth.

“Doffy was talking to Trebol about it,” Rosinante said. He tried to be careful about how he chose his words. “I hear it has healing properties. Something about an enzyme that can eat away at toxic buildup?”

Sengoku sighed and Rosinante listened to the sounds of his adoptive father leaving one room and entering a quieter one.

“That’s right. One of our units up North discovered its existence. According to the medical staff, there’s an enzyme in it that can cure just about any disease. One of the intelligence departments has tasked our unit with retrieving it. The scientists want to grow one in a lab to recreate the enzyme,” Sengoku explained.

Rosinante breathed out smoke and nodded, though he knew Sengoku couldn’t see it. His eyes flickered to his rearview mirror for a brief moment before they returned to the front of the car where one of Doffy’s targets could be seen at a coffee shop.

“Hm,” was his only response.

“Why are you asking? Is your brother going to try and steal it?”

There it was. The question Rosinante had been expecting and still had no idea how to answer.

“He’s interested in it,” Rosinante said carefully.

“That’s not good. Whenever Doflamingo is interested in something all hell breaks loose.”

Rosinante smirked in spite of himself because he knew damn well that Sengoku wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah,” he said.

Doffy’s target sipped his drink and Rosinante instinctively clenched his right hand into a fist.

“Does he know where the fruit is?” Sengoku asked.

“Not exactly, but he knows its general location.”

“I see…”

There was something in Sengoku’s voice that made Rosinante suspicious. Something that was deliberate and almost conniving. Something that Rosinante knew he needed to bite on but couldn’t because—

“How are you doing? I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Sengoku said.

How was he doing? Were there words that existed to even answer that question?

Rosinante took a harsh drag of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could.

“I’m fine,” was all he said.

That same hesitation from before came back, only more evident if that was possible.

“We got word a few weeks ago that one of your brother’s rivals turned up dead in a sewer.”

Rosinante took another drag of his cigarette and continued to watch the man in the coffee shop.

“Yeah.”

“If Doflamingo is having you do anything that you aren’t comfortable with, just say the word and—”

“What would it take for someone to get their hands on this Ope-Ope fruit?”

“Why are you asking, Rosi?”

Rosinante recoiled at the nickname and he instantly hated himself for it. Sengoku had been calling him that since he was just a boy and said it with nothing but unconditional love. But ever since Rosinante had joined the Donquixote Family and ever since Doffy started using the nickname to have some sort of hold over him? He started to hate it.

“I don’t want Doffy to get his hands on it,” Rosinante lied straight through his teeth.

Sengoku didn’t know about Law and Rosinante planned on keeping it that way for as long as he could. Sengoku didn’t need to know about the boy from Flevance with the Amber Lead Syndrome. He didn’t need to know about the kid’s connections to the Family.

He didn’t need to know about any of it.

“I understand,” Sengoku said. “Let me touch base with Tsuru and we’ll go from there, all right? If Doflamingo is interested in this fruit, then I see an opportunity for us to apprehend him and bring him in.”

Rosinante rubbed his jaw, narrowing his eyes when his target looked right in his direction.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll call you again in a few days,” he said.

“Be careful,” was all Sengoku said before he hung the phone up.

Rosinante was about to get out of the car and approach the target when his other phone went off, the phone that was used exclusively for Family business.

He cursed under his breath and pressed the phone to his ear without checking to see who was calling him.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to get back to the clubhouse.”

Doffy. Of course.

Rosinante seethed through his teeth and took a final puff of his cigarette and chucked it out of the window.

“Why? I’m in the middle of a hit.”

“Because I said so.”

Rosinante hesitated. Doffy didn’t sound good. He was lacking his usual flamboyance and grandeur. And he seemed to be lacking it an awful lot these days.

“Okay.”

Not that Rosinante was disappointed because he wasn’t. He was fine with not having to kill another person because Doffy told him to. His conscience was already split in two because of the last few hits. He didn’t want to add another one to the list. But at the same time, it wasn’t like Doffy to pull him off a hit. It wasn’t like his brother to pull him off any job.

And the implication made Rosinante’s skin crawl.

He got back to the clubhouse an hour later and the sun was just starting to set. For the first time in weeks, there was a clear sky, not a single rain cloud to be found.

With any luck, Rosinante would actually get some sleep.

He headed into the clubhouse and kicked the door shut behind him. He could hear voices from the card room and let his legs carry him through the narrow hall and into the largest room of the clubhouse.

Everyone was there.

Everyone from little Dellinger all the way up to Doffy himself.

And they were all in somewhat of a circle, some sitting, some standing, all looking at whatever the fuck was in the middle of the room.

Rosinante looked for Law first, pulse quickening at the possibility of Law being the subject of everyone’s scrutiny, but let out a quick sigh of relief when he saw the kid standing near Doffy, situated between Baby 5 and Buffalo.

He elbowed his way passed Jora and that was when his eyes settled on what everyone was staring at.

Or rather who everyone was staring at.

It was a man in a forest green suit, red tie, and black sunglasses. He was kneeling on the floor and blood ran down his temple and dripped off his chin, staining the already filthy floor.

Rosinante recognized him in an instant.

Zotto. A classmate he graduated from The Academy with.

“What’s going on here?” Rosinante asked.

“Do you know this man, Corazón?” Doffy asked.

Rosinante was careful not to bat an eye or show any surprise or discomfort. And to really get his point across, he started smoking a cigarette and shrugged.

“No? Should I?”

Doffy did not respond right away and Rosinante didn’t like that one bit.

All it took was more than a passing glance to see how unhinged Doffy looked. His hair was disheveled, his usually pristine clothes were wrinkled, and his fingers were twitching slightly at his sides.

“He’s with the FBI,” Diamante said. He grinned at Rosinante and reclined back into the sofa. “Caught him following Pica today.”

Why the actual fuck was Zotto following _anybody_ from the Family? Rosinante thought that _he_ was the only person who was allowed to be near the Family for the foreseeable future. Why the fuck would Sengoku—the person in charge of the investigation—send another officer to possibly blow his cover?

“Is this seriously why you wanted me to come back?” Rosinante asked Doffy, purposely ignoring the way Diamante stared at him.

Doffy didn’t respond right away. Rosinante wasn’t sure who he was staring at, either Zotto or himself, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, he still didn’t like where this was going.

“I want you to kill him, Corazón,” Doffy drawled after the silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

Rosinante’s cool exterior faltered and god fucking _damnit_ because Doffy noticed.

“Why?”

Doffy turned directly to him, sunglasses glinting in the light.

“Because I said so.”

Rosinante was vaguely aware of the smoldering cigarette ash that fell to the floor but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

There was no way he could—

“Unless that’s a problem, _Corazón,_ ” Doffy added with a curl to his lip.

Not good. Not good at all.

Doffy’s trust was all of five seconds away from snapping and there was no way in fucking hell that Rosinante would be able to survive the fallout if it happened anytime soon. No matter what, he couldn’t let that happen. Not before he got the cure for Law.

Speaking of.

Law wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was looking at Zotto with nothing short of venomous hate. It radiated off of him in a way Rosinante had only ever seen with his own brother and it broke his fucking heart.

“I’m not killing an FBI agent, Doffy. They’ll come for us if I do,” he said after a little too much time had passed.

Doffy tilted his head to the side, the corners of his lips twisting down.

“You’ll kill targets for me. You’ll kill drug lords and gun runners and other criminals, but not an FBI agent.”

_Fuck_.

He was screwed. He was so fucking screwed.

Doffy was going to cut his tongue out and feed it to him if he figured it out.

“Didn’t you just hear me? I’m not going to kill an FBI agent because they’ll come for us. If one of their agents turn up dead, they’re going to be a hell of a lot more aggressive in apprehending us. It’s a stupid risk to take,” Rosinante tried. He tried to sound disinterested, tried to sound like he didn’t really care what happened either way.

But Doffy didn’t buy it.

“He knows where the clubhouse is. He knows who is in the Family. He’s figured too much out so he needs to go,” Doffy said in a low voice.

Rosinante locked his jaw. His hands started to tremble and he tried to distract himself from that by fiddling with his cigarette.

He then craned his neck over his shoulder to look at Zotto.

His sunglasses were cracked so Rosinante couldn’t see his eyes. But maybe that was a blessing in disguise. If Rosinante could have seen his eyes, then maybe he would have given himself away.

They were never particularly close, him and Zotto, but there was something to be said for being a classmate that he graduated from The Academy with. There was a brotherhood and camaraderie between them that couldn’t be replicated.

“I’m not killing him. We can do something else to him. Use him as a message or—”

“Fine,” Doffy said.

It wasn’t the response itself that made Rosinante turn back around so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. It was the abruptness in his brother’s voice that prompted the reaction.

When he looked back at Doffy, he was producing a revolver from his breast pocket and pressing it into Law’s hands.

Rosinante’s entire body stiffened.

“Law, kill the FBI agent and show Corazón how you’re supposed to follow orders.”

Law’s eyes flashed up to Rosinante’s in a heartbeat.

The kid hated all authoritative figures. Hell, he probably even hated Doffy. But after what happened to his family and Flevance, Law particularly despised authoritative government figures and FBI agents were no exception.

And yet he still looked a little shaken. Those dark eyes that were rimmed with gold widened and his lips parted in surprise.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Rosinante snarled, not even able to register the gasps that came from the rest of the Family at his rude outburst. “He’s a _child_.”

“A child who is part of the Donquixote Family,” Doffy responded. He looked straight at Rosinante and kept his expression unreadable.

Rosinante snorted in disgust and looked back at Law.

“You don’t have to do this, Law. Just drop the gun and—”

“Kill the FBI agent, Law. Or else.”

Law broke the gaze he shared with Rosinante and swallowed loud enough for the entire room to hear it. His hands had a slight quiver in them as he adjusted his grip on the gun. He then squared his shoulders back and held his chin high enough for everyone to see the white blotches on his skin that covered his neck and chin, and steadied his eyes at Zotto.

“Making a child do your dirty work, Doflamingo? You’re pathetic,” Zotto sneered.

Rosinante could have throttled the guy right then and there. His chances of survival were already slim enough, and pissing off Doffy was only going to make things worse.

Doffy finally smirked, a quick glance into his usual persona and he nodded at Law.

“Go ahead,” he said.

A new determination glinted in Law’s eyes and he carefully raised the gun.

No. No, Doffy did not get to do this. He did not get to wield Law’s pain and suffering as a weapon. He did not get to use the kid for leverage.

He did _not_ get to put blood on the hands of a child.

Rosinante made a snap decision in that moment and reached Law in one stride, plucking the gun out of his sickly hands.

“Corazón, what are you—”

Rosinante said a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in and in one breath, pivoted on his heel, pointed the gun right at Zotto’s forehead, and squeezed the trigger.

The _bang_ made his ears ring and the warm splatter of crimson sprayed across his face.

Zotto’s body crumpled to the floor with a _thud._

Sengoku would never, ever forgive him.

“Corazón!”

For the first time, Rosinante wasn’t able to register Law’s voice. For the first time, he wasn’t able to look at the kid.

He didn’t regret his decision. Not for a second. Rosinante was already a killer at this point and he was fine with completing the task if it spared Law from another tragedy for at least one more day.

But between the sight of an old comrade on the floor, the feeling his blood on his face, and the heavy gaze he shared with Doffy, Law’s voice fell on deaf ears.

“Happy now?” Rosinante whispered, all too aware of the warm blood dripping down his face.

Doffy didn’t smirk at him. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t do anything but stare back.

“Ecstatic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter! The next three make up for it(:
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta was away again ))): forgive the typos! They'll get corrected as the week progresses.

It was the sunlight that woke him up. It trickled through the curtains until it fell in a single beam across his eyes and then just like that, Rosinante was up and moving.

He went through the motions. He showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed, had coffee. All of it was in some vain attempt to achieve a sense of normalcy as he mentally processed what the day had in store for him.

It was the day. The day he went to trial and testified against Doffy.

He felt sick to his stomach and it was a battle to get his coffee down, but he managed.

Then there was a knock on his front door and he jumped, dropping his coffee cup and watching it shatter on his floor.

He groaned and walked to the door, looked through the peephole, and pulled the door open.

“You look startled,” Garp said.

“Because I am,” he deadpanned.

Garp looked around Rosinante and found the shattered coffee cup right away and shrugged as he picked his nose.

“Sorry, but you’re a klutz and I’m on a schedule. Deal with it later. Gotta get you to court.”

Rosinante found he didn’t have the strength to argue, so he ignored the shattered coffee cup and left the apartment, accompanied by Garp and two bodyguards.

Garp may or may not have tried to talk to him on the car ride there, but Rosinante wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy sucking on cigarettes and trying to dispel the phantom pain that twinged in his chest and abdomen.

And then just like that, the car ride was over and they were walking into the courthouse. There were reporters on the steps and cameramen too. Rosinante looked at them in confusion but refrained from asking Garp about it, mainly because there were several guards suddenly around them, ushering him up the steps and into the safety of the courthouse.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, looking over his shoulder at the glass doors they just walked through. “What the hell was that?”

“Eh. The reporters are like vultures and your brother’s been putting on a show.”

Of course he was. Doffy may have been a lot of things, but subtle was not one of them.

They walked through the courthouse until they reached a particular room where Sengoku was waiting outside for them. He wore a white suit and seemed even more on edge than yesterday at the hospital.

“You okay?” Rosinante asked.

Sengoku patted him on the back and said a casual, “I should be asking you that.”

“You can ask me that when this is all over,” he said with a small smile.

Sengoku let out a soft chuckle and nodded once at him before they entered the courtroom.

It looked like every other courtroom Rosinante had ever seen. The floors were a carpeted grey, the walls were a muted cream, the flags were behind the bench, and all of the furniture was made of wood.

It was beautifully fucking ordinary and Rosinante couldn’t have appreciated it anymore if he tried.

But incidentally, that feeling lasted about all of ten seconds, because the next thing his eyes settled on was none other than his one and only, complete lunatic of a brother…

Doffy was there beside his defense attorney, wearing a crisp white suit, pink tie, and pink sunglasses. His blond hair was cropped shorter than Rosinante remembered and he looked stronger. More muscular. He was all smug and arrogant while he grinned from ear to ear, radiating a sense of self-importance that Rosinante could _feel_ slam against his chest and threaten to knock the wind straight from his lungs. But the minute Rosinante walked in, Doffy’s venomous smile began to dissolve and that aura of hubris was replaced with nothing short of silent fury.

It was all Rosinante could do to yank his gaze away from his brother and walk over to the seats that were one row behind the prosecutor’s table. He sat down between Sengoku and Garp and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply and felt an itch in his lungs and throat that signaled it was time for a cigarette. It took everything in his power to ignore it.

His stomach was in total shambles. It kept knotting and flipping and it was getting to the point where all he wanted were saltines and ginger ale to soothe it.

“You don’t have to look at him,” Garp said.

Rosinante rubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

He knew that, but it still felt like an impossible task.

The courtroom was packed. When Rosinante first arrived he’d been greeted with the sight of reporters, cameraman, and spectators. He figured it would be busy with how high profile the case was, but he had no idea to what extent, and the courtroom itself was no exception.

The room was bathed in an ugly yellow hue from the way the overhead lights mixed with the wood of the bench, tables, and chairs.

And it was the perfect light to see dust specks float through the air and settle on the table.

“Has it been like this every day?” Rosinante asked, lacing his fingers together and clenching them.

“Yep,” Garp muttered. “It’s a goddamn zoo.”

“A mockery of the justice system,” Sengoku added.

Rosinante didn’t disagree, especially not with the way flashes were going off to get photographs of the proceeding.

Kuzan and Akainu then approached the table, and as Kuzan started to set out some files, Akainu walked right up to Rosinante and stared him dead on.

“Glad to see you here in the flesh,” he said.

There was something about Akainu that rubbed Rosinante the wrong way. He understood the man’s abrasive nature. As the DA, it was his job to be harsh and put criminals away.

But still. There was something extreme about him that curdled Rosinante’s blood.

“I’m not,” Kuzan said without turning his back. “He’s in serious danger now.”

“Didn’t you hear about what happened to him the other day? It’s a little late for that,” Akainu retorted.

He may have been speaking to Kuzan, but he still stared Rosinante in the eye as he said it.

Rosinante worked his jaw and said a low, “I’m ready to do my part.”

Akainu lingered a moment longer. He tensed his shoulders until his red suit tightened in protest. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

Then a grin stretched across his face and he turned around and took a seat at the table beside Kuzan.

Sengoku patted Rosinante on the arm and he released a tired sigh.

Damn it all. If only he could smoke inside the courtroom…

That phantom pain echoed in his chest again. It ripped through the skin around his heart and bit into the scar in his stomach. It torched his flesh and kissed his organs. It wreaked absolute havoc on him until he was sweating and silently praying to a god he didn’t believe in to make it just _stop._

“Rosi? Are you all right? You look sick,” Sengoku said in a hushed voice.

“‘m fine,” he croaked.

Sengoku likely wanted to ask him more questions but it was too late because the judge entered the courtroom and they were all rising to their feet in respect.

Judge Kong was presiding over the case and he was a severe-looking man. His skin was deeply tanned, his muscles were painfully obvious beneath his black robe, his white hair was slicked back into spikes, and there was a nasty looking scar beneath his eye.

Rosinante couldn’t get a read on him, but he had a feeling the man had a very distinct view of justice.

In almost no time at all, Kuzan got up and started presenting more of his case to the jurors. He spoke with an easy rhythm that exuded confidence but still made him sound humble. But truthfully, Rosinante wasn’t really listening. He was too busy trying _not_ to focus on the glow of pink that currently assaulted his peripheral vision.

But that too was short lived because before he knew it, he was approaching the stand and swearing to tell the truth about the ordeal.

His mouth was suddenly dry and hands twitched in his lap. His ears rang and Kuzan spoke, but he couldn’t quite hear the words.

“I’m sorry. Could you please repeat the question?” Rosinante asked. His voice cracked and he winced, but Kuzan didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he seemed to expect that sort of reaction.

“I understand this is very overwhelming, Mr. Donquixote. Take a moment to collect your thoughts while I ask the question,” he said. Rosinante nodded and listened closer this time. “Let’s start at the beginning. Why did you decide to go undercover and enter Doflamingo’s crime family?”

The panic was rising again and Rosinante needed reassurance. He needed Sengoku to help him through this.

He hadn’t meant to glance directly into the crowd of onlookers. He meant to look at Sengoku. He meant to look at the one person who could always pull him out of those god awful memories and away from a potential breakdown.

But instead, he found himself looking into the crowd and locking eyes with a man a few rows behind Sengoku.

Rosinante recognized him with ease. It was the doctor? The scary one from the hospital with the surgical cap covered in hearts. The one who looked like he was five seconds away from biting someone’s head off. The same one who took one look at Rosinante and turned ash white, as if Rosinante was a ghost.

He had that same lost expression on his face and he looked like he might be sick the longer he stared at Rosinante. His face was pale and his lips were slightly parted. His dark eyes were wide and his shoulders were hunched forward.

What was he even doing there? Was he just another spectator who was interested in seeing the downfall of Donquixote Doflamingo?

Rosinante found that he couldn’t look away though. That he couldn’t break eye contact with the doctor whose name he didn’t even know.

How could he? The man looked like he was one breath away from completely falling apart. One breath away from shattering into a million little pieces.

Maybe it was because he wanted to ignore Doffy. Maybe it was because he could hear his own heartbeat thump against his eardrums. Maybe it was because he himself felt like he was going to be sick. But Rosinante wanted to help him. Wanted to assure the doctor that things were fine.

He barely nodded his head forward, hardly even noticeable, but the doctor hesitated and then slowly nodded back. Rosinante then took in a deep breath. He let it fill his lungs, let it expand his stomach and chest. The doctor did the same and despite the distance between them, Rosinante could see the doctor’s chest expand as he took in his own breath.

They exhaled in unison and it was enough for Rosinante. His head felt clearer and his shaking hands stilled.

It was just in time for him to formulate an answer to Kuzan’s question and begin his testimony.

* * *

**_14 years ago_ **

“You’re drunk,” Rosinante deadpanned.

Doffy laughed and rested his cheek against his hand. He was sprawled out on the couch in the card room with two women on either side of him. One of the women had dark hair and she was on his left, kissing his neck and biting his ear. The other one was a redhead, and she was on his right, occasionally holding a bottle of wine to his lips.

“And you’re uptight,” Doffy replied. “Sit down. Have a drink. I’ll even share with you.”

It wasn’t the wine Doffy was referring to, but rather one of his women and Rosinante’s lip curled.

“I don’t have time for this,” Rosinante said with an exasperated sigh. “I thought we were going to talk about the Ope-Ope fruit.”

Doffy gave a dismissive wave of his hand and nodded at where Trebol and Diamante were at one of the round card tables. They appeared to be in the middle of a game of poker with two women Rosinante had never seen before.

“That can wait,” Doffy said. “Right, Trebol?”

“That’s right, Young Master!”

Rosinante rolled his eyes so hard that they might as well have been in the back of his skull. And right after Trebol spoke, both of the women who were all over Doffy started giggling and calling him Young Master and Rosinante was _over_ it.

“Okay, well I’ll be back whenever you sober up.”

He pivoted on his heel to walk out of the card room and get away from Doffy, Trebol, Diamante, and the other Family members who were hanging out in there. It was getting late anyway and he wanted to check on Law before he went to bed. He fell into a coughing fit a few hours ago and never quite recovered from it. He could probably use some tea and—

“C’mon. Sit down, Corazón,” Doffy said with an airy laugh.

His tone was light, so Rosinante wasn’t perturbed. Doffy seemed relaxed and entertained enough that it didn’t seem like a big deal. Rosinante had learned his brother’s mannerisms well enough to know when he was generally in the clear to ignore him and when it was too dangerous to do so.

So yeah. He ignored Doffy and kept walking out of the card room without giving it much thought.

But then he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun clicking and every muscle in his body froze.

“I told you to sit _down_ , Rosi.”

The silence was deafening. There was no more giggling from the women. No more murmuring between Diamante and Trebol as they played their poker game. No more conversation amongst the other Family members.

Rosinante paused and craned his neck over his shoulder.

Doffy was still on the sofa, sprawled out with the women on either side of him, but only now he held a glinting, silver revolver and pointed it right at Rosinante’s chest.

“What are you doing?” Rosinante asked. His voice was lower than it ever had been before. So much so that he hardly even recognized it.

“I’m tired of you acting like you don’t have to listen to me. I don’t care if you’re my blood or not. You have to follow the rules just like everybody else,” Doffy said. His voice was gruff and downright deadly.

Rosinante swallowed loud enough for his brother to hear and he very slowly turned around so he better faced Doffy.

“I’m tired, Doffy. I’m going to bed.”

Doffy didn’t lower the gun and he sneered, “no. You’re going to sit the fuck down because I said so, _Rosi_.”

Rosinante fingers curled into fists at his sides and he breathed harshly through his nose. It wasn’t worth the fight. He was already too close to blowing his cover to risk upsetting his brother so much. He had to deal with it for a little bit longer. He had to suffer through the bullshit just long enough so he could find the Ope-Ope fruit for Law.

He didn’t say anything as he took a seat on the couch his brother was on, seeing as it was the only open spot for him. The only thing that separated him from his brother was the brunette woman that had been kissing Doffy’s neck and thank fuck for that because otherwise Rosinante really thought the two of them would have ended up in a brawl.

He produced a cigarette from the pocket of his feathered jacket and searched his other pockets for a lighter, silently fuming and desperately trying to calm down.

“Here, give my brother a light, would you?”

Rosinante wanted to snap that he didn’t need a light from his brother or one of his hookers, but didn’t get the chance because the brunette was suddenly in his personal space and lighting his cigarette.

As if nothing happened, things went back to the way they’d been only a few moments ago. Trebol and Diamante were playing poker again, the others were talking, and Doffy was drinking his wine and laughing.

Rosinante breathed in the smoke and promptly blew it back in the woman’s face when he said a tight, “thanks.”

It didn’t seem to bother her because she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled.

“Absolutely. Anything else I can get you?”

Not unless she had the Ope-Ope fruit or a miraculous cure for a dying boy’s disease.

“No,” he said.

She pouted her lips and returned her attention to Doffy. Rosinante then closed his eyes and rested his head against the couch cushions and quietly smoked his cigarette. His thoughts were loud enough to drown out the incessant noise of the card room and at the very least, that was a small blessing in itself.

He would take them where he could find them.

He continued to smoke as a way to dispel the painful tension in his hands and shoulders. That had been too close. He pushed Doffy a bit too far and almost paid for it with his life.

Suddenly, there were hands on his chest, delicate ones that were undoing the buttons of his shirt with deft fingers. His eyes snapped open and he sat straight up, cigarette between his lips almost entirely forgotten.

“The hell are you doing?” Rosinante growled. His hand clamped around the wrist of the brunette woman and he glared at her harder than he had ever glared at any of the kids.

The woman’s cheeks flushed but she didn’t look intimidated. If anything, she looked a little bashful.

“Young Master wants me to help you relax,” she said easily.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“You’re wound tighter than a spring and you’re disobedient because of it. Let her do her job,” Doffy said. There was no trace of laughter or mirth in his brother’s voice and there was a shiver up his spine.

Rosinante locked his jaw and glanced at Doffy.

Doffy looked back and there was one long moment where everything around them faded into a haze and the only clear thing in his vision was his older brother. Doffy, in all of his glory. Doffy, in his smothering, _overwhelming_ presence.

Rosinante saw a brief flash. A passing second where his brother was younger and slightly less deadly. An instant where they were both children and Doffy held his hand as he cried when their mother died during that horrible thunderstorm.

But then it was gone and Doffy was a full-grown man and the leader of a crime family that wreaked havoc on anyone who crossed his path.

“Have a drink,” Doffy said, thrusting his wine bottle out to Rosinante.

Against his better judgment, he reached for the bottle and his scarred fingers brushed against Doffy’s callused ones.

He could feel the air crackle between them as he put the bottle to his lips and gulped down the sweet wine, feeling it trickle from his mouth and down his chin.

When he was done and pulled the bottle away, Doffy laughed and said an amused, “there you go, Corazón! Loosen up!”

Rosinante’s lip curled at the taste of wine on his tongue and he held the bottle back out to Doffy. He took it back and Rosinante rested against the cushions again and closed his eyes. The wine must have been stronger than he realized because his head was already starting to spin. He could already feel the edge of his awareness blunting into something dull and foggy.

Those hands were on his chest again and making swift work of his shirt until he could feel the stale air of the card room kiss the front of his clammy torso. Those hands then moved away from his chest and up to his shoulders, squeezing and pressing into the knots he didn’t even know were there.

The cigarette and wine dulled his irritation with the woman and he did his best to ignore her. Only a little bit longer and then he would be sure to make his exit now that Doffy was in a better mood.

But then he could feel the woman in his lap, her legs on either side of him so she straddled his hips, and her lips at his neck and he was snapped back into lucidity.

“What the hell do you think—”

“Relax, Corazón,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.”

He most certainly would not, Doffy be damned.

She weighed almost nothing and lifted her off his lap with hardly any effort at all, and then he pushed himself up from the couch to try and leave yet again.

“Sit back down, Corazón, and let the whore—”

Blame it on the wine or his short temper or something else, but Rosinante snapped before his brother could finish his sentence.

“And let her _what_ , Doffy? You already made me stay here while you sit there and drink yourself into fucking oblivion. What next? You going to hold a gun to my head and make me fuck her too?” he shouted.

The silence returned a second time, only it seemed so much louder than before.

“Corazón, you sit your ass back down and—”

Rosinante turned around and stalked out of the room. Doffy may have threatened him with a gun before but to do it a second time would be too much. He wouldn’t actually do it because if he did, he would have to pull the trigger and Doffy wasn’t ready for that.

At least that’s what Rosinante hoped.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me, Rosinante!” Doffy’s voice bounced off the walls and even shook some of the light fixtures.

But Rosinante was too far gone to turn back now. He rounded the corner of the hallway and took the stairs two at a time until he was headed for his bedroom. He would get to his room, smoke until his lungs were black with tar, and drink enough bourbon until he passed out and was dead to the world.

He could _feel_ how fast his heart was beating and how flushed his chest was from the fury that coursed through his veins. It was a fury that was so similar to his brother’s, that had it not been for the love and discipline that Sengoku instilled in him, he would have acted on it with the same nasty violence that Doffy did.

On the way to his room, he passed one of the empty ones and heard the voices of Buffalo and Baby 5.

He didn’t bother listening to what they were talking about but caught the tail end of whatever it was Buffalo was saying.

“…have a real name you have to tell us! Or I’ll tell Young Master that you stabbed Cora!”

Rosinante came to an abrupt halt, lingering outside the room.

“Yeah, we will!”

There was the sound of a very tired sigh and then, “Trafalgar D. Water Law.”

Rosinante didn’t hear the rest of the words that came from Law because it felt like someone just socked him in the diaphragm and instantly sobered him up.

Trafalgar D. Water Law…

D.

There were centuries of superstition and legend there. There was danger there for someone who grew up in Mariejois. There was an unholy, blasphemous tale there that he and Doffy were told as children. A sinister tale about how those who carried the name D. were the sworn enemies of the royal blood that hailed from Mariejois and so, so much more.

For as stupid as Rosinante believed the story to be, Doffy did not share his sentiments and he would never, ever let Law live to see another day if he knew.

Oh, Law… Why would he tell Buffalo and Baby 5 that? Did he have _any_ idea of the kind of danger he was walking right into?

He acted on impulse and stormed right into the room the children were in, grabbed Law by the back of his shirt, and hauled him away.

“H-hey!” Law shouted. “What the hell are you doing, Corazón?”

Baby 5 and Buffalo gasped as Rosinante grabbed Law and left, but they didn’t say anything to him.

“Corazón! Put me down, you dumbass clown!” Law snapped, thrashing around in his hold and spewing a set of curses that would impress even Garp.

But Rosinante didn’t put him down until they were in Law’s bedroom with the door securely shut behind them.

“Law, is it true? What you said to Baby 5 and Buffalo?” he asked right away, kneeling down so he was closer to the boy’s eye level.

At this height, Rosinante could see the white splotches on Law’s skin all too clearly, and they were already on his face now, slowly discoloring his already grey pallor.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Law asked with his trademark scowl.

“That name,” Rosinante pressed. He reached forward and rested his hands on Law’s tiny shoulders and squeezed. “The secret name of D. Law, if it’s true then we need to get you out of here _right now_. You’re not safe around Doffy!”

Law’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

“Corazón, what are you—”

There wasn’t enough time for this. Rosinante wasn’t able to sit down with the boy and answer all of his questions. He wasn’t able to formulate a plan that would ensure his safety. The boy’s true name was already bad enough, but telling Buffalo and Baby 5? It was too fucking much and too goddamn dangerous.

They needed to leave.

“Listen to me,” Rosinante said softly. He relaxed his grip on Law’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “I want you to pack a bag for a few days, okay? Once your bag is packed, I need you to meet me on the back porch. Understood?”

Law frowned and pursed his lips.

“What the hell, Corazón?”

Rosinante squeezed Law’s shoulders again and said, “I need you to trust me, Law. Okay? If that’s your true name, you’re not safe here.”

He was pissed. He was annoyed. He didn’t want to listen to Rosinante.

And yet, Law rolled his eyes and nodded.

“…Fine.”

Rosinante breathed a sigh of relief.

“Try not to let anyone see you.”

Rosinante released Law and it wasn’t until he watched the boy begin to pack did he feel like he could leave.

He all but ran to his room after, damn near tripping over his own two feet in the process, and flung the door open.

He rummaged through his few possessions, searching for a gun and some clothes and—

“We need to talk.”

Rosinante froze, elbows deep in his dresser, and snapped his neck over to the door to see Doffy standing there, waiting.

Just waiting.

“I’m done talking,” Rosinante said under his breath. He turned back to his dresser and was careful to seem nonchalant as he dug through it.

“Rosi.”

Rosinante winced. If only he would _stop_ with the nickname.

“Gonna hold a gun to my heart again?” Rosinante hissed. He knew he shouldn’t have been so obvious with his frustration, but he was at his wits end.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Doffy said.

Rosinante squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lose his temper. Not with so much hanging in the balance.

“I think we both need time to cool off,” Rosinante said.

“Or we need to address the elephant in the room,” Doffy said right back.

That got his attention and not in a good way. What did that even mean? What was the elephant in the room? Doffy didn’t know about him being an undercover cop… Right?

Rosinante faced his brother and leaned against his dresser. The wooden drawer dug into his lower back and he used the pain as his anchor.

“I’m sorry?”

Doffy stepped deeper into the room until he was only an arm’s length away. His expression was a mask but Rosinante could see how flushed his brother’s skin was and the way sweat beaded on his temples.

“You’re not happy here,” he said.

The tension in Rosinante’s shoulders released and he rubbed his forehead as a way to mask that sense of relief. So he didn’t know about Rosinante’s identity. He didn’t know about the Bureau. He simply thought that his younger brother wasn’t happy.

And thank God because Rosinante could work with that. He could string something together to appease Doffy. Easy… But oddly enough, there was an undeniable urge to lie to Doffy and tell him that he _was_ happy. He hated it, but he recognized the desire as a desperate need to please his older brother.

“I’m just tired of all the bloody work I do,” he answered.

Doffy cocked his head to the side and plunged his hands into his pockets.

“I thought you liked being the muscle of the group.”

Rosinante pressed his lower back harder into the dresser and said, “that was before. I’m exhausted now.”

Silence.

They sized each other up and Rosinante’s heart stuttered in his chest. Doffy was a monster. He knew that. He was a terrible man who needed to be stopped. He was a sick, twisted crime lord that thought himself above the law and above the human race.

But he was still Rosinante’s older brother. Still the same person who used to tell him bedtime stories when the rain was too loud.

But then again, maybe all of that had been a lie too.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? I could have done something about it,” Doffy said.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Doffy huffed and reached forward, curling a hand around the back of Rosinante’s neck and pulling him forward until their foreheads touched and Rosinante could see the outline of his brother’s irises behind those rose-tinted glasses.

“You’re an idiot,” Doffy said, hot breath invading Rosinante’s air and filling his nostrils with the stench of wine.

“I know,” he muttered back.

Doffy’s hand tightened on the back of his neck until it was painful. And with their proximity, Rosinante could hear his brother swallow. It wasn’t a nervous sound though. Rather, it was almost frustrated. Like he was trying to hold back his mounting rage.

“Doffy—”

“You’re difficult. You’re a pain in my ass. You’re disobedient. And you’re too goddamn soft,” Doffy started, still tightening his grip. “But you’re still my brother—my _blood_. And because of that, I’m going to give you one more chance, Rosi. I’ll start giving you different jobs and find a replacement for what you do now. Can you live with that?”

Time felt a little slower. Felt like every second that passed was actually a minute.

“I can live with that,” Rosinante said, voice far too hoarse for his own good.

Doffy relaxed his grip and slowly withdrew his hand as he took a step back.

“Good.”

He still didn’t leave though and Rosinante let the pain in his lower back keep him grounded in reality.

“Get some sleep. You look like shit and it finally stopped raining,” Doffy grunted.

He left in a flurry of pink feathers after that and as soon as he was out of sight, Rosinante’s knees went out from under him and he crashed to the floor, back pressed against the dresser and head spinning.

He rubbed his temples while his brain pulsed against his skull. He tried to take deep breaths but his lungs wouldn’t expand quite right, so he found himself breathing quicker and quicker until he got lightheaded and started seeing black spots dance across his vision.

That was when it dawned on him that he was having a panic attack.

He used to get them as a child when Sengoku first found him. Used to hear the rain at night and cry and hyperventilate until he threw up. Used to beg Sengoku not to leave him for it and plead for forgiveness.

_“Rosi, it’s okay. It was just a panic attack. You’re all right now,” Sengoku assured, crouching down and mussing his unruly blond hair._

_Rosinante’s nerves jumped beneath his skin and he shook his head, tears fogging his vision until Sengoku was only a blurry figure with black hair and massive shoulders._

_“I-I’m sorry! Please don’t—” he hiccuped and wiped his eyes with his fists. “Please don’t leave me! It w-won’t happen again! I promise!”_

_“Why do you think I’m going to leave you, Rosi? I’m right here. You’re safe now.”_

The memory made him flinch and grind his teeth so hard that he probably could have dislocated his jaw.

Rosinante held his breath and carefully curled and uncurled his fingers in and out of fists. Focused on the little movements there and on the dust specks around his desk lamp. Risked taking a slower, shallow breath until he could once again get his bearings.

He didn’t have time for this. He had to get to Law and get him out of there.

Sure, he would have preferred to stay and use Doffy’s intel to find the Ope-Ope fruit, but if Sengoku and the Bureau knew about it, then maybe he could rely on them instead. And hell, if Doffy ever found out about Law’s true name, then it would be the end of the boy and Rosinante refused to let that happen.

So he took one more moment to steady himself and promptly got his shit together, both figuratively and literally.

He filled up a duffle with some clothes, cigarettes, some weapons and made a beeline for the back porch.

Law was already there, arms crossed and glaring at Rosinante, but he didn’t care.

He nodded at Law and started towards his car, stomach all the way in his throat and heart slamming against his ribcage.

“C’mon, Law. We’re leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to anyone who has been leaving comments! They mean the world to me(:
> 
> Next week's chapter will likely be 2-3 days late. So it'll probably come out on Tuesday or Wednesday. Depends on the craziness of my schedule! (Or even a few days later since I'm traveling for job interviews)
> 
> Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to prefer the "past" scenes but now that I have to stick to the canon, the "present day" scenes are more fun.

“How long did you serve as the Heart Executive in the Donquixote Family?” Kuzan asked.

Rosinante looked him straight in the eye, just the way they practiced, and answered with a calm, “four years.”

“What kind of work did you do during those four years?”

“I was mainly the muscle,” he said.

“Can you give us an example of what it means to be the muscle?” Kuzan asked.

Rosinante nodded and his leg began to bounce.

“It was my job to deal with Doflamingo’s contacts if they crossed him. So if someone normally ran guns for him and if they stole those guns, Doflamingo would send me to take care of them. Usually, I would just go see the contact, mess up their place of business and rough them up a little bit until the message got across. It usually was enough to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.”

Kuzan nodded and Rosinante’s eyes flickered to where Doflamingo was whispering something to his attorney. He was a hulking figure, a bit like Doffy, but that was where their similarities ended. Where Doffy was flamboyant and loud, his attorney was quiet and calculating.

“And were you ever tasked with killing someone?”

Rosinante cracked his neck and hesitated, “…yes.”

“Did you?”

“…Only out of self-defense.”

He glanced at the jury and winced when he saw the looks on their faces. He knew why Kuzan was bringing it up. He knew that if they didn’t bring it up, Doffy’s attorney would. He knew it was inevitable.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Especially not when he saw the look of utter disappointment on Sengoku’s face. Thirteen years only did so much to heal that particular wound.

“And was the FBI aware of this?” Kuzan asked.

Rosinante cleared his throat, “we discussed everything in detail once I was stabilized after the Minion Island incident.”

The line of questioning really took off from there. Kuzan was fairly gentle on him, but firm enough to convince the jury of the greater cause. Firm enough to show everyone that while Rosinante was not perfect, he was not the enemy.

And then they veered off into territory Rosinante was most frightened of.

“Tell us about what happened on Minion Island with Trafalgar Law, former special agent Vergo, and Doflamingo.”

Rosinante bit down on the inside of his cheek and against all better judgment, looked over at his brother.

Doffy’s face was unreadable. He leaned back in his chair and those pink sunglasses pointed right in Rosinante’s direction.

He tore his eyes away from Doffy and found himself somehow locking gazes with the doctor once again, but he too had an unreadable expression.

“Um. Where do you want me to start?” Rosinante asked.

“Let’s start with why you were there.”

“I was there because I was looking for the Ope-Ope fruit,” he said.

“For the FBI?” Kuzan pressed.

Rosinante locked his jaw tight enough to grind his teeth to dust.

“No.”

“No?”

“I wanted the fruit because I discovered it had an enzyme in it that could potentially heal Trafalgar Law.”

A heavy, undeniable silence and discomfort descended over the courtroom and Rosinante could only narrow his eyes. Did he miss something? Was he supposed to leave his motivations out? When Kuzan prepped his testimony he had made it very clear that Rosinante would need to address _why_ he wanted the fruit. He’d been crystal fucking clear that talking about the fruit and Law as the only way to give a convincing testimony.

So then why—

“And did you get the fruit to Trafalgar Law?”

Rosinante sighed, “yes.”

Doffy leaned forward and whispered in his attorney’s ear again and Rosinante found it horribly goddamn distracting.

The attorney smirked and jotted something down, and Rosinante was unable to pull his eyes away.

“Did Trafalgar Law eat the fruit?” Kuzan asked.

“Yes,” he answered, though his voice didn’t sound like his own.

“Can you explain how you got the fruit and what happened after Trafalgar Law ate it?”

The memory came back, slamming into him like a freight train and Rosinante yanked his eyes away from Doffy’s attorney.

His chest burned and his vision momentarily blurred.

“Law and I left the Family six months before the incident on Minion Island. I left a note for Doflamingo saying that I was going to find a cure for Law and told Buddha Sengoku that I was taking some time away from the job to see to the boy’s care,” Rosinante said.

“And Trafalgar Law’s health was the only reason for this leave from your duties?”

“Yes,” Rosinante said. It was only a half-truth but it was good enough. Rosinante had been prepped by dozens of attorneys for this moment and he realized that the only thing that mattered was Law’s health. No one had to know that part of the reason he left was because of Law’s real name and he would keep it that way. Thirteen years and Rosinante would still never let that information get out and risk the boy’s wellbeing.

Then again. Law was no longer a boy anymore, was he? He was a grown man of twenty-six by now.

“What happened next?”

“We traveled around in hopes of finding the fruit and a cure. I had some intel from the FBI of where it might be, so we started there even though it was to no avail. I took Law to a lot of hospitals along the way because he was so sick. Then eventually Doflamingo got in touch with me and he told me he found the fruit’s location. I crosschecked that with Buddha Sengoku to see if Doflamingo was right and he was. So we went to Minion Island after that. I think Doflamingo was on to me by then and was planning on killing me there regardless of what happened.

“Sengoku knew that I was interested in finding the fruit, although he didn’t know why. I told him it was just a way to finally capture my brother even though I really only wanted it for Law,” Rosinante said quietly into the microphone on the stand.

“Why were you so determined to get this fruit for Trafalgar Law? He was a boy with a terminal illness that had no known cure. Why would you risk your life and career for a cure that might not even exist?”

 _That_ was a question they hadn’t prepped him for and the whole team seemed to notice it right away. Akainu’s eyes widened and his mouth pursed into a thin line. Sengoku’s lips parted in surprise. Garp actually pulled his pinky out of his nose.

Rosinante blinked and worked his jaw once he returned his gaze to Kuzan.

He looked so sure of himself. His shoulders were pushed back, his chin was held high, and something was twinkling in his eyes.

Unable to do anything else, Rosinante decided to go with the truth and he leaned forward to say, “because he became like a son to me and I loved him.”

A quiet murmuring filled his ears and Rosinante glanced over to his left to see the jurors’ reaction. Some of them looked touched, evident from the way they had a hand to their chest or from the way their eyes shimmered. Some of them looked surprised with wide gazes as if it was totally unbelievable that someone in Rosinante’s position could ever love someone.

“Objection.”

Rosinante found himself looking in Doffy’s direction once again, only this time instead of seeing Doffy whispering to his attorney, he found the dark-headed man standing up and looking at the judge.

“On what grounds?” Judge Kong asked, only looking at the man through his peripherals.

“Relevance, Your Honor.”

Judge Kong looked at Kuzan and then responded with an almost bored, “overruled.”

Kuzan didn’t outright smirk, but his eyes twinkled and the left corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Rosinante looked out into the crowd and found himself once again looking at the doctor. He didn’t look back this time though. The man’s shoulders were hunched forward and he had a tattooed hand buried in inky black hair as he stared at the floor.

Rosinante swallowed back a lump in his throat and waited for Kuzan to continue.

“Just to clarify, Mr. Donquixote, you lied to both Doflamingo and Buddha Sengoku, who was your boss and adoptive father, all to protect Trafalgar Law and get the Ope-Ope fruit to him?”

“Yes.”

“I see. What happened on Minion Island once you arrived?”

Rosinante recounted the story. Everything from arriving on Minion Island to hiding Law in that little shack, to stealing the fruit from Diez Barrels, to lying in the snow as he waited for Law to deliver his message about Dressrosa to the FBI, to Vergo, to Doffy… He recounted the whole damn thing and Kuzan made sure to hammer every gory little detail home until members of the jury looked ill.

“What do you remember after your brother left you for dead?” Kuzan asked.

“Nothing. I hung on for as long as I could and then the next memory I have is waking up in a hospital.”

“Did you have any memory of what happened on Minion Island when you woke up?”

Rosinante paused as he tried to remember what it was like to open his eyes and be greeted with the sight of doctors and nurses hovering over him, monitoring every breath he took. And the only thing he remembered from that initial moment of consciousness was that he asked about Law.

“To be honest, when I woke up everything was in pieces but I know I asked about Law and they ended up sedating me because I kept trying to leave.”

Kuzan asked some more questions about that, about the hospital and having to be sedated because he’d been so worried.

His strategy was so painfully obvious that it was almost heavy-handed. Kuzan wanted to make it clear to the jury that Rosinante was just a man who did what he had to do to protect a boy that he loved like a son. He was trying to show how much Rosinante loved Law to blunt the cross-examination because they all knew it would be bad.

Rosinante was no saint when he was with the Family and any half-decent defense attorney would jump all over that because it was the perfect way to impeach him as a witness.

Rosinante knew why Kuzan chose that strategy and he could appreciate it.

He just didn’t know how effective it would be.

They wrapped up after a few more questions and then Judge Kong called a recess before the defense had its chance to question Rosinante.

He got down from the stand and Kuzan approached him first.

“You did great,” he said.

Rosinante had a headache and all he wanted was a cigarette. Or two.

Or ten.

“Thanks.”

“Just remember to keep calm when the defense goes. Crocodile can be a mean sonofabitch when he wants and he’s been your brother’s attorney for the last thirteen years. So just take a breath and keep your head on, all right?”

Rosinante nodded and headed out of the courtroom.

He didn’t make it very far before Sengoku was at his back and laying a hand on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Rosinante asked.

“Where are you going?”

Rosinante nodded his head at a door on the other end of the hall. He was pretty sure that it led to a courtyard or at the very least, an exit.

“I’m just gonna have a smoke,” he said. Sengoku’s brows knit together with worry and his eyes flickered to the door.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Sengoku said.

Rosinante looked around. Doffy was nowhere in sight and neither were any of the jurors or other attorneys. Kuzan was off somewhere with Akainu and the associates, and Rosinante assumed that Doffy’s attorney was off with his own team. There weren’t even any press anywhere. The coast seemed relatively clear.

“Sengoku, I’m dying for a light here. I’ll be quick,” he promised.

He gave Sengoku a weak smile but the man didn’t return it. He stared at Rosinante like he might disappear and then after a minute gave a heavy sigh and nodded, patting him gruffly on the shoulder.

“All right. I have to make a phone call anyway.”

Rosinante nodded and went to the door, stepping outside into a little courtyard.

The sun had been out when he arrived that morning but it wasn’t anymore. When he got outside he saw only a slate gray sky and could feel the electricity and humidity in the air, telling him that a thunderstorm wasn’t far off. All of it was accompanied by a gentle breeze and it cooled Rosinante’s clammy skin. He didn’t realize he’d been sweating beneath his dress shirt until he was finally relieved of the hot courtroom air.

The grass in the little area was lush and soft under his feet, and there was a lone tree in the center of the courtyard that a few stone benches were positioned around. Rosinante dug around in his pocket for a cigarette and walked right up to the tree and pressed his back against its trunk so he could see the door that led to the courtyard.

Call him paranoid or whatever, but he wasn’t going to leave his back open when his psychotic brother was right around the corner.

The cigarette smoke drifted around him a bit like a halo and he watched it with tired eyes. His head felt fuzzy and he needed it to clear up quickly so he’d be able to get through cross-examination.

Akainu himself prepped Rosinante for that, so he doubted there was anything that Doffy’s attorney could say to intimidate him, but it still wasn’t a terribly appealing thing to look forward to.

He looked up at the sky and sighed between puffs of his cigarette. He was so close to freedom that he could almost taste it. It was _right_ there. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that smoking kills?” a deep voice asked.

Rosinante abruptly tore his gaze away from the slate gray sky to see the doctor from the courtroom walking over to him.

Rosinante pressed his back against the tree until it dug into the space between his shoulders and took a slow drag, savoring the way nicotine and tobacco coated his tongue.

He shouldn’t have zoned out like that. What if it had been Doffy instead?

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m on borrowed time anyway.”

He would have had to be blind to miss the way the doctor’s shoulders tensed at the comment, though he didn’t mention it. Didn’t have to since the doctor walked right up to the tree Rosinante was currently pressed against and leaned against it as well.

Up close, he looked more exhausted than Rosinante originally thought. There were horrible dark circles beneath his eyes, ones that suggested the man was a complete and total insomniac, and his jet black hair was unruly and stuck up in different directions like he’d just woken up. Pair that with some faded jeans and a black pullover hoodie with fraying edges, and the doctor looked like he was five seconds away from keeling over due to lack of sleep.

But his eyes were the exception.

His strange eyes that were so familiar—eyes that were as black as the man’s hair and accompanied by a unique gold ring—they were bright and alert.

“You’re a doctor, right? I was at the hospital yesterday and I think I saw you there. You had the scrub hat with all the hearts on it, right? I accidentally bumped into you,” Rosinante said with smoke peppering his words.

“Mhm,” was all the man said.

He didn’t look at Rosinante or at the sky. Rather, he looked straight ahead at the door.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Rosinante asked, eager to stave off any awkward silence.

“I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon,” he said.

Rosinante watched the man a moment longer than appropriate. There was something off about him. Then again, maybe that wasn’t the right word. He wasn’t really “off” but he was strange. He was just so goddamn _familiar._

“Hm,” Rosinante said. He took another puff. “Go figure. All I seem to do is attract cardio docs anymore.”

That made the doctor smirk and Rosinante noticed the man’s tattooed fingers twitch.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Rosinante said. “You heard what happened to me in there. I’m sure you can imagine what my heart and lungs look like.”

The doctor made a thoughtful noise that was a cross between a sigh and a hum and Rosinante braced himself for a medical lecture.

But instead of a lecture, the response he got was entirely different.

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

Rosinante took one last drag and snuffed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and held his hand out to the doctor.

The doctor shook it with a grip that rivaled his own and Rosinante tilted his head to the side ever so slightly when they locked gazes. The familiarity of the man’s eyes was going to be the death of him. It felt like Rosinante was drowning in a terrible sort of déjà vu the longer they looked at each other.

“I’m Rosi. Nice to meet you, Doc.”

“Likewise,” the doctor said. He held onto his hand a little longer, squeezed it a little tighter.

Then he dropped it.

Rosinante thought it was a little odd that the doctor didn’t tell him his name, but he must have had a good reason for it, so he didn’t push.

“So are you just another spectator or…?”

“Spectator and witness,” he said with a shrug. Rosinante stared in disbelief but the doctor avoided his eyes. “I testified a few days ago. I was there on Dressrosa when Doflamingo was arrested.”

Rosinante rubbed the back of his neck and looked back up at the slate sky. It was just a matter of time before it started raining.

He wondered if his brother could see the sky from wherever he was.

“Small world,” he muttered. He reached for another cigarette and placed it between his lips and searched his pockets for a lighter. For once, his hands weren’t trembling and there was no pain in his chest. So he tried to savor it for as long as he could.

Rosinante produced his lighter and just before he could hold it to the end of his cigarette, the doctor’s tattooed hand shot up to snatch the cigarette out of his lips and to snap it in half with deft fingers.

Rosinante blinked, completely dumbfounded and stared at the doctor, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Uh?”

“If your heart looks anything like I think it does, then you’ve got a death wish if you’re smoking these things. Not to mention, but your lungs are probably so filled with scar tissue and black tar that it’s a miracle you can breathe at all,” the doctor deadpanned. His eyes flashed and Rosinante stiffened. “Don’t be an idiot. Chew some gum. It’ll help with the oral fixation and nicotine addiction.”

Rosinante’s hand went to the back of his neck. He was used to doctors lecturing him about his smoking, but he wasn’t used to one pretty much bullying him to get their point across. Kureha had been the closest thing to that, and she only berated him for a short period of time. She never ripped a damn cigarette out of his mouth and snapped the thing in front of him.

The doctor had some nerve too since Rosinante was so much bigger than him and clearly much older.

What a brat.

“Those are expensive,” Rosinante said with an exasperated sigh.

“So are medical bills,” the doctor said right back, the corner of his lip quirking into a sort of smirk.

Rosinante shook his head but didn’t bother trying to light another one. He had a feeling the doctor would just take his entire carton away if he did.

He glanced at where the doctor was fiddling with the broken ends of his cigarette and narrowed his eyes when he noticed what letters were tattooed on the tops of his fingers.

“Seriously? A surgeon with DEATH tattooed on their fingers?” Rosinante quipped. “I’m sure patients love that.”

The doctor smirked and shrugged.

“You get away with a lot when you’re the best cardio doc in the country,” he said.

“I don’t believe that,” Rosinante said with a light scoff. He crossed his arms, pressed his back a little harder into the tree, and looked back up at the sky. “You’re way too young to be the best at anything. What are you? Thirty?”

“Twenty-six,” he said. “I was a medical prodigy. What can I say?”

Rosinante absentmindedly nodded and looked back down at the doctor. He just barely reached Rosinante’s shoulders, and that was a feat in itself since Rosinante and Doflamingo stood at heights that shouldn’t have been possible.

He looked older than a mere twenty-six, but Rosinante wondered if that was because of the dark circles under his eyes and the air of exhaustion that clung to him. He figured that was probably the case. When Rosinante was twenty-six he often was told he looked much older for the same reason.

“Why the DEATH tattoos?” Rosinante asked.

“Why not?” the doctor replied.

Rosinante chuckled under his breath and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. What was it with him and arrogant bastards? Did he have a neon sign above his head that attracted them to him or something?

“That attitude reminds me of someone,” Rosinante admitted before he could really process what he was saying.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Hey, Punk! Sengoku’s looking for you.”

Rosinante looked away from the doctor to see Garp standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, scowling at either Rosinante or the doctor. He couldn’t be sure which given the distance.

“All right,” Rosinante said. Garp didn’t leave his space in the doorway though. He stood pin-straight, still glaring at them.

Something wet landed on Rosinante’s cheek and he looked at the sky to see a few raindrops beginning to fall.

“Nice talking to you, Doc,” he said when another one landed on his forehead.

“Mhm,” the doctor muttered.

The man’s attitude and arrogance seemed to dissipate once Rosinante pushed himself away from the tree, and for some reason it made him linger.

The doctor didn’t smirk anymore and his fingers dug into his biceps from where he crossed his arms. In fact, he almost looked sad?

That was when Rosinante saw it. A blemish—a _discoloration_ —in the man’s tan complexion. A faint, hardly noticeable, ghostly scar on the side of the man’s neck, another one along his jaw, a few more on his face, and even more on his hands.

They were so small. So faded. Someone might not even think they were scars if they didn’t know. They might just think they were a medical condition he was born with, but Rosinante knew better. He knew those scars. He knew those oval shaped, uneven, horrible fucking ash white marks better than he knew the disfigurement of his own chest and abdomen.

The doctor looked away from the ground and met Rosinante’s stare head on, arching one eyebrow above the other in confusion.

“What?” he asked.

Those stupid fucking scars. Those scars that Rosinante hated so fucking much. Those _godforsaken_ blotches of disease that had covered the man’s face and body.

Amber Lead Syndrome.

A breath tore from the back of his throat, almost choking him and making him stammer out a weak, “La—”

A hand clamped down on Rosinante’s elbow.

“Come on, Punk.”

“W-wait. Hold on a sec—”

“I’m sorry, but there will be time for this after Crocodile has had a chance to cross-examine you,” Garp grunted, yanking Rosinante back towards the courthouse.

Rosinante couldn’t have fought back even if he tried. Garp didn’t get his nickname for nothing and even though Rosinante was strong, Garp was stronger.

Still though. He looked over his shoulder to see the doctor looking back at him with those familiar eyes.

Black eyes rimmed with gold. Eyes that Rosinante hadn’t been able to identify because the last time he’d seen those eyes, they had been charcoal gray because their pigment had been lightened from disease.

They were his eyes though. Rosinante was sure of that now. He was more sure of those eyes than he was of his brother’s guilt.

All because they were Trafalgar Law’s eyes.

* * *

**_13 years ago_ **

Stupid fucking doctors.

They were all good for nothing pieces of shit. Every single one of them.

Didn’t doctors take an oath? An oath to do no harm and to treat those who needed it? Weren’t they supposed to give a shit about a sickly kid who just needed some IV fluids and something to break his fever?

Stupid mother f—

“Corazón, you should eat something.”

Rosinante stomped his cigarette out and glanced at Law. He was huddled in front of the fire with a blanket draped over his small shoulders, holding a bowl of soup out to Rosinante with quivering hands.

They’d only been on the run for two weeks and it was still too risky to take refuge in a motel. Doffy would have found them in an instant. So, for now, they were forced to camp out each night.

And on the nights it rained or the weather was too shitty? They slept in the car, Law getting the backseat to spread out on and Rosinante confining himself to the driver’s seat in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

Doffy had only called one time on that first day but Rosinante ignored it. He hadn’t tried a second time and Rosinante didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

“Have you eaten?” Rosinante asked, walking back over to the fire and sitting on the other side of it.

“Yes,” Law said.

“And you’re full?”

Law rolled his eyes and reached around the fire to set the bowl of soup beside Rosinante before he went back to where he had been huddled moments ago.

“Yes, you dumbass clown. Now would you shut up and eat already?”

Rosinante didn’t take his eyes off of Law. It was only two hours ago that they left yet another hospital and Rosinante was at the point where he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. He just wanted a medical professional to give Law the treatment he deserved and be done with it. Was that seriously so much to ask?

Law always reacted the same after they left. His head would hang a little lower and his shoulders would hunch forward a bit more.

He just needed help and Rosinante couldn’t understand why no one would give it to him.

“Thanks,” Rosinante said.

Law nodded and held his hands out to the fire, yawning and slowly blinking the sleep from his eyes.

He’d been getting sicker. Those white splotches were blooming across his face and every breath he took would make his chest rattle until he was a sputtering, wheezing mess.

He needed a cure and he needed one soon…

“Get some rest,” Rosinante said.

Surprisingly, Law didn’t fight with him. He just rolled out the sleeping bag Rosinante bought him their third night and curled up by the fire, falling asleep almost instantly.

Despite being on the other side of the fire and the crackle of the embers, Rosinante could still hear the rattle in the boy’s chest.

He winced at the sound and swallowed down the rest of the soup in a few gulps. He then stood up and walked a few paces away and produced his phone to call Sengoku.

He answered right away.

“Yes?” Sengoku grunted.

“It’s me,” Rosinante said. “I was wondering if you made any progress with locating the Ope-Ope fruit yet?”

Sengoku sighed and Rosinante nervously looked back over his shoulder to reassure himself that Law was still there.

“Depends what you define as progress,” Sengoku admitted. “Tsuru thinks she might have found some leads but she’s not sure if they’re valid or not. Why?”

Rosinante bit down on the inside of his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Never mind. I had to take a leave from my assignment. Don’t worry though. I’m still monitoring my brother, but I need to take care of something important first,” he blurted before he could think better of it.

There was a pause, a long one that made Rosinante want to jump out of his skin.

“…If you say this is important, then I trust you, Rosi.”

He breathed in relief and put his hand to his chest and felt his rapidly beating pulse just beneath his fingertips.

“You would tell me if you were in trouble… Right?” Sengoku asked.

Rosinante rubbed a thumb across the space beneath his collarbone and glanced back at Law.

“Of course.”

“All right then,” Sengoku said.

Rosinante was going to hang up after that and call it a night. Maybe curl up next to the fire with what remained of his stash of bourbon.

But then Sengoku a soft, almost gentle, “I love you, Kid.”

Rosinante’s whole body froze and his jaw clamped shut.

It had been so long since he’d seen Sengoku. Almost four whole years since he got to have a beer with the man or a drunken heart-to-heart. It had been so goddamn long that Rosinante almost felt numb to it. And it may have made him terrible, but hearing his adoptive father’s words only made him suspicious.

And he had no one but himself to blame for it.

“…Love you too,” he croaked.

He hung up immediately after and pinched the bridge of his nose as he seethed through his teeth.

Fuck.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did anyway and went over to his car to grab the remaining stash of bourbon and settled down beside the fire.

The bourbon was liquid fire going down his throat. It warmed his chest and made his head spin after only a few large gulps.

His mind was in disarray and it was only a matter of time before he lost himself to memories of Doffy and his mother and his father and rain and dust specks.

But then he looked at Law’s sleeping form and something inside him pulled.

“Law…” he muttered in his drunken stupor. “I’m sorry I keep dragging you around from hospital to hospital. You deserve better than that.”

He held the bottle of bourbon to his lips and chugged until alcohol trickled down his chin and neck and stained his shirt. Drank until it was empty and until he could hardly see straight and until Law was only a blurred mass in front of him.

He stood up and his knees almost buckled under his weight but he managed to keep himself up long enough to stumble over to Law and take a knee beside the sleeping boy. His chest rattled even in his sleep and when Rosinante put a hand to the boy’s cheek, he could feel a low-grade fever. It never really went away anymore.

“You’re still a rude little brat,” Rosinante said as he withdrew his hand. “And I wish you would stop saying that you would die soon.”

The backs of his eyes burned and Rosinante started to get choked up at the realization that Trafalgar Law might not live for much longer.

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as tears started to fall.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that this boy from that wretched city would die before too long while fucking Doflamingo got to waltz around and torment people just for shits and giggles.

“I’m sorry, Law,” Rosinante whimpered. He sniffled and more tears fell from his eyes. “I… I know you stabbed me that day but… But it didn’t hurt.” _Fuck_ , he couldn’t stop _crying_. He rubbed his eyes and tried to bite back a sob. “I-I know you were the one who was hurting, Law.” A strangled wheeze escaped his throat and Rosinante stood up so he could go cry to himself instead of Law and he said a weak, “I’m so, so sorry.”

He got only a few feet away before he tripped over something and spiraled towards the ground.

Luckily, he fell asleep before the pain could kick in.

_He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see straight. Between the mucus running from his nose, the tears blurring his vision, and the curtain of rain, the image in front of him was distorted._

_It had to be. Distortion was the only way his little eight-year-old brain could process what he was looking at._

_“Doffy, PLEASE,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his stomach and crying until he started to gag on his own tears._

_“Then don’t watch, Rosi!” Doffy snarled. His small ten-year-old figure went back to its task, one hand clutching onto the back of their dead father’s head while the other clutched a knife._

_“Why are you doing this?” he shouted._

_The rain soaked through his clothes until even his bones felt the chill of it and he collapsed to his knees, unable to look away._

_“It needs to be done!” Doffy yelled again. He brought the knife over his shoulder and swung it down in an arc, sinking it into the still warm flesh of their father’s neck. “I’m going to bring it back to Mariejois for all of them to see. Then those bastards will take us back.”_

_There was a clap of thunder but Rosinante couldn’t hear it over the sound of his wails._

_This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. It was all just a terrible nightmare and then Rosinante would wake up and his mother would smile at him, kiss him on the cheeks, and then tell him about the dust specks._

_But it wasn’t a nightmare. It was as real as the thunderstorm and not even the moonlit sky could hide what his brother was doing._

_He was a monster. He sawed away through flesh, muscle, tendons, and bone and sticky blood coated his brother’s hands and pooled around them, seeping around Rosinante’s knees._

_But the rain. At least the rain washed his father’s blood away._

“Oi, wake up, Cora.”

Rosinante’s eyes fluttered open and it took him exactly three milliseconds before he jumped up with his heart racing and produced a gun and pointed it at one of the trees he’d fallen asleep surrounded by.

“What the hell are you doing!”

Law.

The angry little brat was awake and staring at him like he had six heads. Rosinante glanced away from Law to see their campsite perfectly intact. There was a little fire, Law’s sleeping bag was rolled up, and the sun was out and shining and the fucking birds were singing.

They survived another night.

Rosinante ran a hand over his face in relief and leaned down to rub the top of Law’s head.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly.

A sheen of sweat coated his body and he tasted copper. His head pounded and stomach churned from the bourbon and it was all he could do to stay upright long enough to pull out a cigarette.

“Come eat breakfast, Cora.”

The sleep inertia seeped back into Rosinante’s sore muscles and he rubbed his eyes as he fought back a yawn.

“I’m not hungry,” he said once he lit his cigarette and took a drag.

Law scoffed and started to berate Rosinante for not listening to him, talking about how he needed to eat and how he needed to stop smoking and that’s when it dawned on him.

Law called him Cora. Not “stupid clown” or Corazón or anything else, but _Cora_.

“Wait, Law,” he said. He pulled his cigarette away from his lips and felt a grin slowly spread from ear to ear. “What did you call me?”

Law’s pale cheeks flushed.

“Don’t make this weird! It’s just a name!”

Rosinante stared and his smile grew even bigger. Holy shit. Maybe Law didn’t hate him as much as he liked to pretend he did?

“Stop smiling like that! You’re such a stupid fucking clown!” Law yelled.

Rosinante couldn’t help it when he laughed and grinned so hard that he probably looked absolutely insane, meanwhile his cigarette fell from his lips, completely forgotten.

“Come on, Law! Say it again! Please!” he said, still grinning like the idiot he was.

“Just shut the hell up and come eat your hangover breakfast!” Law snapped. He turned around and stomped away after that, muttering curses and insults, but Rosinante didn’t care. He just laughed again and smiled until his face hurt.

Rude little brat.

Still though. Rosinante absolutely adored him and it couldn’t be helped.

Not that he wanted it to be helped.

They fell into a routine after that. Rosinante would still drag Law to hospital after hospital. They’d be disappointed by asshole doctors and public reaction. They’d leave and find a place to sleep at night, whether it be in a park, in Rosinante’s car, or in a campground. Then they would wake up and do it all over again the next day.

It must have been six months of the same routine and all of it was to no avail. There was no word from Sengoku on the Ope-Ope fruit and Law only got sicker.

It finally reached a point where the boy had more white patches on his body than not. The Amber Lead completely trapped Law in his own skin and there was nothing either of them could do it about it.

Law’s fevers spiked, he coughed more, and could barely walk for more than a few minutes at a time. Rosinante had to carry him most places despite his protests and even though Law resigned himself to his fate, Rosinante did not.

He was desperate.

He would abandon the FBI, go back to Doffy, even cut out his own fucking heart if it meant there was something he could _do_.

If only he could find that stupid fucking fruit.

But then Doffy called one day. It was in the morning while Law and Rosinante ate, and when that phone went off Rosinante damn near jumped out of his skin.

“Cora?” Law asked.

Rosinante stood up and walked away from the fire he used to cook breakfast on. He didn’t want Law hearing the phone call should it turn sour.

“Hello?”

“Ah. So you answered this time, Rosi,” Doffy said.

Rosinante’s jaw locked and he walked further from their makeshift campsite until it was only a speck in the distance.

“Yeah,” Rosinante said.

“I take it Law is still alive and that’s why you haven’t come back,” Doffy said.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell because Rosinante could _hear_ that stupid fucking smile in his brother’s voice.

He didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Well, Little Brother, lucky for you I might have a cure.”

Rosinante swore his heart stopped. There was no way…

“Huh?” he whispered.

“That’s right. We’ve found out where the Ope-Ope fruit is.”

Rosinante put a hand to his forehead and looked over his shoulder at their campsite. His heart slammed against his ribcage and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. There was no way. No fucking way. It couldn’t be true.

“Where is it?” he blurted right away.

Fuck. He should have better composed himself because there was no way that Doffy didn’t hear the desperation in his voice.

Doffy chuckled, “it’s on an island up North. A crime family has it and they’re going to give it to the FBI for around five billion dollars. Come home and we’ll get it together.”

The hair on the back of Rosinante’s neck stood straight. It was a trap. It had to be.

“I’ll meet you there,” Rosinante said breathlessly. “It doesn’t make sense for me to come back to the clubhouse if I’m already up North with Law.”

There was a moment of hesitation, a moment where each brother silently sized the other up.

“All right then. We’ll meet on Swallow Island. You know where that is?”

He didn’t but he would figure it out.

“I’ll find it,” Rosinante said.

“Good. I’ll see you in three days, Corazón.”

Doffy hung up and Rosinante sucked in a much needed breath. This was it. Do or die, he would go to that island and get the fruit for Law.

He’d have to call Sengoku first and check the validity of the information. He just needed a second to pull himself together first.

He again looked at the campsite and squinted his eyes in the distance to see Law’s slumped over figure.

He’d go the island. He’d go there and get the fruit to Law. Then they’d escape together and do whatever the hell they wanted with their newfound freedom. Maybe they’d go back to the real world and Rosinante could introduce Law to Sengoku (though he doubted Sengoku would appreciate the boy’s sharp tongue) or maybe they’d live off the grid or maybe they’d just travel around for a few years with the money Rosinante made from the Donquixote Family.

There were so many possibilities. Freedom was so close that Rosinante could taste it.

He smiled to himself and produced his other phone to call Sengoku.

One way or another they’d get through this.

And over his cold, dead body would he let anyone take that fruit from Law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so disappearing was not like me. At all. When I wrote my Shisui story (24 chapters) I only missed one week and that was because of school. But just to give you all some context, I currently live in Seattle and there was a family emergency that happened back home in Philadelphia. So I had to go home for that. And be quarantined because coronavirus... And then I got stuck in O'Hare for 3 days on my way back to Seattle and that was a disaster. And then I got home, got put on (my second) 14 day quarantine and then work blew up because of coronavirus and yeah. My life has been a disaster.
> 
> So I greatly apologize for disappearing. Just know that it wasn't laziness but genuine real life bullshit. Washington is a disaster. New York is a disaster. Pennsylvania is a disaster. Minnesota (where the other side of my family lives) is about to to be a disaster. So yeah. The world is falling apart?
> 
> So everyone please stay safe and take care of yourselves! These are weird times we're in but hopefully we'll get through everything.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter please drop a comment and let me know. Comments are definitely the pick me up I need right now given the absolute shit show my life currently is. Love you guys<3
> 
> If you ever want to chat you can hit me up on [Tumblr!](https://bxriles.tumblr.com/ask)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls don't hate me. Coronavirus messed everything up so badly for me and I just was NOT in a healthy mental space to write anything.
> 
> Thank you so much to all you lovelies who messaged me privately saying to take my time/gave me their support. You have no idea how much that meant to me 💕
> 
> Here's the final chapter! There are probably a bunch of typos in here and I will correct them as the week goes on! Friendly reminder that I took liberties with the court stuff because I am not a lawyer (though my sister gave me some recommendations for general things since she's in law school.)
> 
> ADA = assistant district attorney  
> 1L = first year law student

Rosinante kept his hands on the tops of his knees and clutched at the fabric of his slacks. His gaze flashed between Sengoku, Kuzan, and Law faster than should have been possible.

He was going to have it out with Sengoku when this was all over goddamnit. He was going to sit down, look his adoptive father square in the eye, and demand to know why the hell he was keeping Law away from him when he was right there all this time.

And Rosinante hadn’t even recognized him! He was so dense! All this time and Law must have known who he was, but Rosinante couldn’t do the same for him.

“Mr. Donquixote, at the beginning of your testimony you said that you served as the Heart Executive of the Family and that your job was to be the muscle. Is that correct?” Doffy’s attorney, Crocodile, said.

He had dark hair that was slicked back, wore a well fitted black suit and a pale green tie, and had the most interesting scar that went over the bridge of his nose and across his face.

“Yes,” Rosinante said.

“And you said the only time you murdered someone was when you were acting in self-defense. Is that correct?”

Rosinante’s stomach tightened at Crocodile’s word choice.

“Kuzan asked if I was ever tasked with killing someone and if I ever completed that task. The only time I ever killed someone was when it resulted out of self-defense while on a job that Doflamingo assigned to me,” Rosinante said.

He glanced at Kuzan and the ADA nodded.

He had to be careful about how he answered these questions and when in doubt, he just needed to repeat what he said before.

Crocodile smirked.

“Of course, Mr. Donquixote. So how would you classify what happened to Special Agent Zotto then? He went into the Family’s clubhouse and never left. His body was discovered weeks later, pulled from the river and so waterlogged that no evidence could be pulled off it. Was that killing out of self-defense or was that just murder?”

“Objection,” Kuzan said. “Compound question and badgering the witness.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Crocodile said to Judge Kong. “Mr. Donquixote, did you kill Special Agent Zotto out of self-defense?”

“Objection,” Kuzan pressed again, this time standing up from the table. “Your Honor, this was not in the discovery file.”

Judge Kong glanced at Crocodile; his face twisted in scrutiny.

“Counsel?”

Crocodile rearranged his expression so it wasn’t as blatantly arrogant. He wasn’t smirking anymore, but the confidence that radiated off of him made it clear that he was about to win this battle.

“I respectfully disagree, Your Honor. Six days ago, we came into some information regarding Special Agent Zotto’s death. We supplied the DA’s office with everything we obtained and did so in a timely fashion,” Crocodile said.

Kuzan stared in disbelief, lips parted in shock and eyes wide.

“Your Honor, this ‘file’ that my opposing counsel is referring to is a series of twelve boxes that are all completely filled with irrelevant paperwork,” Kuzan argued.

“Your Honor, according to Rule 16 of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, we acted appropriately. We adhered to our continuing duty to disclose and all of the documents provided to the DA’s office were kept in the same manner as they were in the normal course of business. Perhaps my opposing counsel should have reviewed the files and moved for a protective order if—”

“Counselors, approach the bench,” Judge Kong grunted.

Rosinante looked away from Crocodile and directed his attention at Law. The look of disgust on his face hadn’t changed much in thirteen years. The right side of his upper lip still curled and his eyes still narrowed impossibly small when he was irritated with something. And despite all the years that had gone by, Law still directed all of that ire at Doflamingo.

“Both of you are seasoned enough to know that courts don’t like discovery battles,” Kong said to Kuzan and Crocodile.

“Crocodile, you know better than to bury your opposing counsel in mountains of discovery. It’s unacceptable to hide a lone shred of evidence somewhere in twelve boxes. Especially when you do it six days before a key witness is going to take the stand. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Crocodile replied, though he sounded annoyingly unbothered.

“Kuzan, I understand this is frustrating, but I simply cannot imagine that you don’t have interns at the DA’s office to wade through all of this discovery. And if you don’t have any interns who can do this, then I am sure that there is some 1L out there desperate enough for legal experience that you can probably bring them on as a volunteer to do it.”

“But, Your Honor—”

“Given the circumstances, I’ll allow this, Crocodile. But if you pull this shit again in my courtroom, you will be sanctioned. Are we all in agreement?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” they both said in unison.

They left the bench after that and returned to their respective places. Kuzan, fuming at the table with Akainu, and Crocodile at the lectern.

Law looked at Rosinante again and something pulled behind his sternum.

“Mr. Donquixote,” Crocodile began. That cruel smirk twisted his lips again and Rosinante bit down on the back of his bottom lip. “When you killed Special Agent Zotto, was that out of self-defense?”

Rosinante paused as the memory flashed on the back of his eyelids. He could still see it clear as day, particularly the way Doffy put the gun in Law’s hand when Rosinante initially refused.

“Yes.”

“Oh really?” Crocodile remarked.

“Yes,” Rosinante reiterated. “It was defense of a third person.”

Judging from the way Crocodile’s smirk grew, he seemed to be expecting that.

“I see. To provide some context to the jury, Special Agent Zotto was an undercover FBI agent who was following Pica, holder of the Spade seat of the Family. Zotto got too close and was brought into the clubhouse. No one knows what happened after that, but he went missing and his body was pulled from the river several weeks later. No one was able to pull evidence from his body because it was so waterlogged, but all of the written depositions of the Family members say the same thing. That Donquixote Rosinante, or better known as his alias Corazón, shot and killed Zotto unprovoked.”

Rosinante scoffed as hard as he possibly could.

“Unprovoked?” he said.

How the fuck was shooting Zotto unprovoked? Zotto had gotten too close and Doffy had pressed a gun into Law’s hand when Rosinante refused to kill him. Doffy had done it on purpose too, the sick fuck. He had purposely dangled Law in front of him as used the child as leverage so Rosinante would do his dirty work.

“Do you disagree?” Crocodile mused.

“Of course I disagree,” Rosinante retorted.

He could see Kuzan bristling in the corner of his eye. Shit, he needed to calm down and watch his tone.

Rosinante found himself looking at Law again to try and better steady himself. Law’s eyes were intently focused on where Rosinante sat and he discreetly mouthed something to him. Something that looked a lot like ‘breathe’ or ‘calm.’

Goddamnit. How could Sengoku do that to him? How could Sengoku keep Law so far away when he was right _there_ all this time? Was that why Sengoku rushed him out of the hospital that morning? Was it because Law was going to be the cardio doc who was going to examine him?

How could he not—

“All of the depositions say the same thing. Special Agent Zotto was brought into the clubhouse and when you saw him, you panicked and shot him even though the higher-ups wanted to keep him alive.”

“That’s a bold-faced lie,” Rosinante deadpanned.

He gripped his knee and squeezed until it hurt, and his eyes flickered to Law again. He was mouthing that word again. ‘Breathe’ or ‘calm’ or who knows what, but Rosinante couldn’t.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years and Law had become a doctor. Had become a surgeon, had become one of the best cardiothoracic docs in the _country_!

And Rosinante didn’t get to share a part in _any_ of that…

“How so, Mr. Donquixote?”

“Nothing was ever unprovoked and the only time I killed someone was out of self-defense and Zotto was no different,” Rosinante said.

“So you _did_ kill Special Agent Zotto. A man that you graduated from The Academy with.”

“I already told you that I had to,” Rosinante said. “I was protecting someone.”

“Oh? And who was this person you were protecting?” Crocodile pressed.

Rosinante gritted his teeth and felt that same tugging behind his sternum, though he hardly noticed it given how fast his heart was racing.

“Who else? The same person I was always protecting. Trafalgar Law,” Rosinante answered as he leveled a stare at Crocodile.

“And what were you protecting him from?”

“My brother,” he said.

“And what was he doing that warranted protection? Was Doflamingo pointing a gun at Trafalgar Law? Was he holding a knife to his throat?”

“Well, no—”

“Did he say that he would kill Trafalgar Law unless you killed Special Agent Zotto?”

“No, but—”

“Then I fail to see how on Earth you were protecting Dr. Trafalgar Law, who is a killer in his own right, from Doflamingo by executing Special Agent Zotto.”

“Objection!” Kuzan snapped. He stood up from the table and leveled his eyes at Judge Kong. “Your Honor, I’m unable to tell if my opposing counsel is trying to impeach Dr. Trafalgar, who may I remind the court, has already given his testimony, or if he is trying to impeach Mr. Donquixote. None of this is relevant and it should be stricken from the record.”

Judge Kong sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Rosinante could feel his pain.

“Overruled, Counsel. This is relevant information,” Kong said.

Kuzan settled down at the table and leaned back in his chair to whisper to one of his associates, the blond man with the scar over his eye. The young man nodded and looked down, presumably at his phone to act on whatever Kuzan’s instructions were, and then Kuzan faced forward and whispered something into Akainu’s ear as well.

“If Doflamingo wasn’t holding a gun to Trafalgar Law’s head, then I fail to see how you were protecting him.”

Rosinante gritted his teeth but didn’t interrupt.

“I think that you shot and killed Special Agent Zotto because you were a rogue, undercover agent, who liked killing and now you want to play the innocent, younger brother card to cover for yourself and—”

“Objection! Badgering—”

All Rosinante saw was red when he snapped, “Doflamingo would have made Law, a _boy_ who wasn’t even thirteen, kill Zotto instead and over my dead body was I going to let Doflamingo put blood on the hands of a _child_.”

“Counsel, your objection is sustained. Strike from the record,” Kong said. The judge then looked over at the jury and continued with, “you all are to disregard that line of questioning.”

Rosinante swallowed and breathed deeply through his nostrils. He looked at the floor and folded his hands together, squeezing until his fingers blanched from the pressure.

Thirteen fucking years and this was how Rosinante and Law would be reunited. By Crocodile making look like a complete fool in front of the entire court.

He had to breathe. Law was telling him to breathe or to calm the fuck down and he was right. As if days of being prepped by the DA’s office wasn’t enough. As if Rosinante hadn’t testified as a key witness before.

He was playing right into Crocodile’s hand.

“This is your last chance to correct this line of questioning, Counsel,” Kong warned.

Crocodile smiled and dipped his head low to the judge before he started again.

“Mr. Donquixote, please explain the story behind why you executed Special Agent Zotto.”

Rosinante made eye contact with Law again. He was scowling at him now, not sulking like before. He then very deliberately mouthed an irritated ‘BREATHE.’ And it was all too endearing because he looked just as annoyed with Rosinante as he did at thirteen, and Rosinante could have smiled.

He found himself taking a deep breath solely for Law’s sake before he answered.

“I shot Zotto because he was caught by the Family. Doflamingo made me come back to the clubhouse and told me to shoot him. I told him I wasn’t going to do that and I made up an excuse about how killing an FBI agent would only bring trouble to the Family. My brother didn’t like that and when I refused to do it, he took out a revolver, gave it to Law, and told him to shoot Zotto so I could see how to properly follow directions. I wasn’t going to let Doflamingo turn Law’s trauma into a weapon. So I did it myself to protect him and grant just one small mercy… Either way, Zotto wasn’t going to be allowed to live.”

His hands relaxed in his lap and he held his head a little higher, squaring his shoulders and meeting Crocodile’s sharp stare.

That was better. He should have taken a deep breath sooner.

“Grant one small mercy,” Crocodile repeated, voice much softer and almost gentle. “For a boy who would grow up to become a killer in his own right.”

Rosinante glared. That was the second time Crocodile dropped that line and he didn’t understand.

“Is there a question in there?” Rosinante replied dryly.

Crocodile casually paced the area by the lectern before he gestured a hand towards Rosinante.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I am sure that you can see the character of Mr. Donquixote for yourselves. Some of you probably are quite touched by this unconditional love he has for Dr. Trafalgar Law, while some of you are probably questioning why he doesn’t share this same unconditional love for his own brother.

“But I think it’s admirable. Really. That Mr. Donquixote is able to still love and care so much for someone who would grow up to become the very thing he was trying to prevent. After all, you heard it yourselves. Mr. Donquixote shot and killed his own colleague, someone he graduated from The Academy with, all to protect the good doctor. And despite having the knowledge that Dr. Trafalgar Law murdered a key character in this case—”

“Objection!” Kuzan snapped.

“Sustained,” Judge Kong said. He leveled a nasty scowl at where Crocodile was addressing the jury but the defense attorney did not look deterred whatsoever.

“Allow me to provide some context. Mr. Donquixote, do you know what happened to Special Agent Vergo?”

Rosinante crossed his arms even though he knew he shouldn’t have. He knew that crossing your arms while you were on the stand was one of the worst things you could do, but he about had it with Crocodile.

“I only know that he died in surgery,” Rosinante said.

And good riddance.

Even as a child Vergo had been incorrigible. Hanging off of Doffy’s every word, tending to his each and every whim. Devoting himself _entirely_ to Doffy.

There was a distant memory there. It was the same one Rosinante always had, of Doffy walking away in the rain, surrounded by figures his child self had been terrified of. The same figures his adult self had been disgusted by.

“Oh? Well, let me enlighten you.”

“Obje—”

“Overruled, Counsel,” Kong said before Kuzan could even get the entire word out.

Well… That wasn’t a good sign. That meant Judge Kong thought Kuzan screwed up somewhere during the trial prep because he clearly was not going to intervene with this next line of questioning.

“A few months ago, Special Agent Vergo was admitted to the hospital. He was there for a pretty standard procedure called an ablation to correct his heart arrhythmia. Now, the person performing this surgery was supposed to be a well-respected physician named Crocus, but he came down with the flu and another physician did the procedure in his place.”

Rosinante could see where this was going from a mile away and he risked a look at Law, but he wasn’t looking back. His shoulders were hunched forward and he was running a hand through his black hair as he gave a heavy sigh.

“Do you know who this other physician was?”

Rosinante uncrossed his arms and leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, keeping his chin high.

“I’m assuming you’re going to tell me.”

Crocodile grinned.

“It was Dr. Trafalgar Law.”

Rosinante wanted to sneer and take Crocodile down. It would have been so easy. He didn’t look particularly big. Rosinante had at least a head on him. Just one sucker punch would have been enough to level him.

But he couldn’t do that.

“Well, I hear he’s one of the best cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. Am I supposed to be surprised that he performed heart surgery?” Rosinante drawled, knowing full well that he was out of line. Hell, Kuzan probably was regretting not being harsher on him in prep.

“Oh no. He most certainly is one of the best, but that’s not the point. The point is that during the surgery, Dr. Trafalgar’s hand _slipped_ and before anyone knew what happened, Special Agent Vergo was dead. You tell me, Mr. Donquixote. The best cardiothoracic surgeon in the country, touted as a medical prodigy from the age of fifteen and his hand just _slipped?_ Slipped on a patient that, according to your very own testimony, he had some very dark history with. You tell me. Does that sound like an accident?”

Oh Law…

What the hell had he been _thinking_? Didn’t Rosinante raise him better than that? Didn’t he show him that love was supposed to be the best teaching? That it was better for him to walk away with his freedom? That it was better to let the grudges go?

Why the hell would he do something so _stupid_?

Maybe if Sengoku hadn’t kept them apart for so fucking long, he could have done something to change it.

“Forgive me, Counselor. But I thought we were in the middle of my brother’s trial. Not Dr. Trafalgar’s,” Rosinante retorted.

“I’m providing context,” Crocodile said easily. He went back to casually pacing around the lectern and appeared to be pondering something as he touched his chin and gestured again to where Rosinante sat. “No one will blame you should your position change. Everyone in this courtroom can see how much you loved that boy. We all can see that you would have died for that boy and based on your testimony and others, you did. You tried to die for him. And I think I can speak for everyone when I say that your actions were admirable.”

Crocodile’s voice was too gentle and it made the hair on the back of Rosinante’s neck stand up.

“But I’m presenting you with new information that the boy you tried so hard to protect is not the same boy you almost died for all those years ago. And that’s okay. People change. But it seems very obvious to me that the reason you’re here is not to put your brother away in prison because of the _alleged_ crimes that took place all those years ago. It seems very clear to me that the reason you are here is because you have a vendetta against my client.”

Rosinante locked his jaw hard enough to dislocate it. He had to keep his temper in check. He _had_ to.

“Obj—”

“You have a vendetta against my client because you hate the fact that he took you away from the boy you called your son.”

No fucking shit he had a vendetta against Doffy for that reason. Of fucking course he had an issue with that? But it’s not like that was the only goddamn reason why Rosinante had it out for Doffy. Was everyone else just fucking blind that they couldn’t see what a monster his brother was?

“Objec—”

“And you absolutely hate the fact that you had to leave that boy on his own because _you_ dragged him into something he couldn’t get out of. _You_ dragged him away from the Family, even though they were the only people who could have protected him!”

Rosinante gritted teeth until they ached and his nostrils flared.

“So now you’re here to try and make amends and throw my client under the bus because it is _your_ fault that Trafalgar Law grew up to be a killer. It is _your_ fault he had nobody. _Yours_. And you think that coming here and testifying about events from over thirteen years ago will do something to change all of that when really the _only_ thing we should be talking about in this courtroom is what took place on Dressrosa and—”

“Objecti—”

Rosinante snapped.

“Are you out of your goddamn _mind?_ ” he snarled.

“Mr. Donquixote, there will be no profanity in my courtr—”

“I’m here because my brother, Doflamingo, is a goddamn _psychopath!_ You’re standing here questioning me to high heaven about Trafalgar Law when you really should be questioning me about are the murders, the drugs, the illegal weapons, the plot to fucking _overthrow_ Dressrosa’s royal family, the attempted murder of _myself_ , and everything else under the fucking sun but all you care about is the fact that Law _maybe_ killed Vergo! _Vergo_ , who was also a fucking psychopath, who doubled as an agent for the Family while being a _federal agent_ , and who was so fucking in love with my brother that he murdered and plotted and schemed and did horrible fucking things for him! The same Vergo who would have killed Law—A CHILD—all because he looked at him wrong and didn’t want him to beat me to death!”

It was quiet.

So quiet that Rosinante could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Sengoku was surely disappointed but maybe Sengoku shouldn’t have lied to him about Law. Kuzan was probably in complete shock and disbelief. Akainu was probably thinking about ways he could throw Rosinante in prison for his outburst.

And yet the only person Rosinante found he could focus on was his brother.

Doffy was looking in his direction and despite the fact that Rosinante was expecting to see his brother laughing or smiling, he was stone cold.

He could feel the air between them crackle with the electricity and weight of so many years.

His blond hair was shorter and cropped close to his head compared to thirteen years ago when it was a wild blond halo. His clothes were clean and pressed, not fraying at the edges like they once used to, and his sunglasses seemed more reflective than ever before.

Rosinante used to be able to see a faint outline of a blue iris behind those lenses, but not anymore.

He heard about what happened on Dressrosa. Heard about the way he tried to cut off Law’s arm. Heard about the boy with the strawhat who put an end to things. Heard about the way he’d been ready to kill them both.

How far had Doffy fallen since they were children in Mariejois?

There was no saving him. Rosinante already knew that, but it still faintly hurt for some reason.

Rosinante fell into a sort of trance with his brother and became vaguely aware of Judge Kong talking. He could see the man’s lips move out of the corner of his eye but didn’t hear anything. The best he heard was some sort of faint buzzing or maybe even a ringing.

The corner of Doffy’s lips curled just enough that he barely smirked. Rosinante’s throat tightened in response and the disfigured flesh of his torso began to burn.

Leave it to Doffy to hire a nasty defense attorney who was able to bait Rosinante like a fish. Leave it to Doffy to hire only the sleaziest of people to work for him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Mr. Donquixote, are you listening?” Judge Kong pressed.

No. He wasn’t.

What was the point of this trial anyway? To put Doffy in prison? As if Doffy didn’t have contacts there. As if he wouldn’t still be living the life of luxury in Impel Down.

It was so fucking stupid.

Doffy would win in the end. He _always_ did.

None of it mattered anymore. Not Minion Island or Vergo. Not the Family or the FBI. Not the rain or the dust specks.

…The fucking rain.

It was raining now, wasn’t it?

He could hear it. He was sure of it.

That stupid pitter patter on the roof. That _wretched_ sound he swore he could hear over his head. Or maybe he was going insane right then and there, stuck in a courtroom, being cross-examined as he stared at his brother’s cruel face.

But no? No, it was definitely there.

_“Mom’s been sleeping a lot. Hasn’t she?” Rosinante asked softly._

_“She’s sick. She has to sleep if she’s going to get better,” Doffy muttered._

His mother… She was imprinted into the backs of his eyes. Laying there in that tiny bed in the shack. Her blonde hair around her head as a halo, framing her pale face after she died in the middle of the thunderstorm.

_“Get some sleep. You look like shit and it finally stopped raining,” Doffy grunted._

He was losing his grip.

He tried to breathe, tried to get some sweet oxygen into his lungs that were riddled with scar tissue. They just… They just wouldn’t expand quite right.

“Mr. Donquixote, answer the question.”

It felt a lot like someone had their knee pressed into his sternum. Felt a lot like he was back in the hospital when he first woke up thirteen years ago.

_Shit_. Why wouldn’t his fucking lungs work?

“I…”

He couldn’t even get a fucking sentence out. His fingers jumped to the tie at the base of his throat and tugged.

He couldn’t breathe. He literally couldn’t fucking breathe.

He blinked and was assaulted with another memory.

_“It needs to be done!” Doffy yelled again. He brought the knife over his shoulder and swung it down in an arc, sinking it into the still warm flesh of their father’s neck. “I’m going to bring it back to Mariejois for all of them to see. Then those bastards will take us back.”_

He broke his gaze with Doffy and found himself searching for Sengoku as black spots danced at the edge of his vision and as the piercing sound of rain split through his fucking skull.

When did it get so fucking _loud?_

His chest _burned_. It stung worse than the way it did the other morning, worse than when he first woke up after Doffy almost killed him. His limbs turned rigid just as his fingers worked on his tie and he became painfully aware of the way his breaths were too shallow and too fast.

Crocodile said something undecipherable and so did Judge Kong. Rosinante opened his mouth to either speak or take a deeper breath but his tongue felt so swollen and seemed to block the back of his throat.

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck!_ Where was his fucking airway?!

No. No no no. He couldn’t die now. Not in a goddamn courtroom. Not with Law sitting there watching him. Not when his freedom was so close that he could taste it!

Someone shouted something about the fact Rosinante quite obviously could not breathe. And it was just in time for the black spots to leave the corner of his vision and to invade the rest of his sight.

This was it.

He survived all of the shit life threw at him only to die during his cross-examination.

What kind of bullshit karma was that?

The black spots expanded until he couldn’t see anything at all and he felt his body slide out of the chair and his head crack against the floor.

The buzzing faded into actual voices, some decipherable, some not.

The last thing Rosinante heard was one voice louder than all the others.

“Get the hell out of my way! I’m a doctor!”

* * *

**_ 13 years ago _ **

“You really need to stop smoking.”

Rosinante kept puffing on his cigarette when he looked at Law. They were huddled in a little shed on Minion Island as they waited. It was only a matter of time. The FBI was over on Swallow Island, right along the shore, waiting to ambush Doffy and to get the Ope-Ope fruit from the Barrels crime family. Just a little more waiting and everything would be over.

Doffy would be in custody. Law would have the fruit. And then they could leave and never come back.

“Tell you what,” Rosinante said. He pressed his back against the wooden wall of the shed and slid to the floor. “I’ll quit smoking as soon as you’re not sick anymore.”

Law scoffed from where he sat in front of the shed’s window and crossed his arms.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Cora.”

Rosinante smiled in spite of himself.

“Maybe. But I’m a man of my word.”

Law rolled his eyes and went back to look out the window. His body kept shuddering between breaths and it was often accompanied by harsh coughs.

He had an unbreakable fever for several days now—the last stage of the disease. There was a part of Rosinante that wondered if the Ope-Ope fruit would be enough. He wondered if Law would live long enough for the enzyme to take effect.

And then there was the chance that Doffy would get the fruit before Sengoku and that he wouldn’t give it to Law. If it was worth five billion then there was no way Doffy would give up that kind of opportunity.

Rosinante swallowed back the dry lump in his throat.

The sooner Law ate the fruit, the better his chances. Rosinante couldn’t wait for the FBI and Law couldn’t rely on Doffy’s word.

That was all he needed to make a snap decision.

“Law, you stay here. I’ll be back soon,” he said, putting out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and standing up.

“Where are you going?” Law asked right away. He swiveled around in his seat by the window and leveled a concerned glance at Rosinante.

Although there was part of Rosinante that wanted to lie to Law to protect him, he respected the boy far too much for that.

“I’m getting the Ope-Ope fruit.”

Approximately one beat passed before Law came back with a bewildered, “are you an idiot?”

Probably.

“Listen to me, Law,” he said. “I don’t know if Doffy will live up to his word and actually give us the fruit. The FBI is willing to pay five billion for it and Doffy won’t pass on that opportunity out of the goodness of his heart. Your health is the most important thing here and the sooner you can eat that fruit the better. I don’t want to rely on my brother for this so I’m going to get it myself.”

Law’s mouth twisted into a frown.

“But Cora…”

Rosinante crossed the space of the shed in only a few strides and he crouched down so he was at eye level with Law and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll be careful.”

Law pursed his lips together and very, very reluctantly nodded.

“Try not to fall over, you stupid clown.”

A grin spread across his face and Law scoffed as he looked to the side. He could feign irritation all he wanted, but the affection was not lost on Rosinante.

He slipped his arms through the sleeves of his feathered jacket and ducked out of the small shed into the snowy outdoors of the island. Almost all of the houses in the village had their lights off. All except the one at the top of the snow covered hill.

That was the one where Diez Barrels and his little crime unit were.

The snow started to pick up on his hike up the hill and it turned out to be a monumental task to stay hidden given his sheer size and the black jacket he wore against the white backdrop. He probably should have rethought that one, but it was cold and he was impatient.

His face was already windburned after a few minutes, but he kept reminding himself that it was nothing compared to what Law was feeling.

And after enough time had passed, he reached the house. It was just shy of a proper mansion but close enough. It had multiple stories, a large yard, and tall windows, but it wasn’t quite as large as some of the other mansions Rosinante and Doffy had seen over the years.

He passed by a window and pressed his back against an exterior stone wall, craning his neck just enough to get a peek inside the foyer of the house. There had to be at least fifteen or twenty guys. Some of them were standing against back walls, others were sitting on the floor with their arms crossed and heads down.

And in the middle was the one and only Diez Barrels. He was a rough looking man who had broad shoulders and a cleft chin.

He paced back and forth, yelling at his subordinates all whilst he held onto a small little heart shaped fruit.

Rosinante’s blood went cold.

That was it! It was _right there!_ The Ope-Ope fruit!

His initial instinct was to run into right into the mansion, kick everyone’s asses, and take the fruit. But he couldn’t really do that, so he needed another plan.

Given how late it was, the storm, and the fact that no one else in the town had their lights on, it made Rosinante think how much easier it would be to go in there and rob them if he could make all the lights go out.

Which was exactly what he did.

All it took was him finding the power box and disconnecting it, and then just like that, his plan was set in motion.

He knew from his own house in Mariejois that mansions of this size often had back entrances for the servants to come and go from, and that was exactly how he made his way inside. No one was around to stop him because they all must have been in the foyer, guarding Diez and the fruit.

Once inside, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and followed the noises coming from the foyer to find his way up there.

It was a monumental task to not trip over his own two feet, and despite how careful he was being, he still stumbled a few times. But thanks to the chaos from him cutting the power, no one seemed to hear him.

He didn’t have to stumble through the darkness for long because once he reached the main area of the house, the moonlight trickled through the windows to give him just enough light to make out the scene before him.

And whereas before he was annoyed with his black jacket for how it made him stand out against the snow, he now appreciated the extra camouflage it gifted him in the house.

“It’s probably just the storm, Boss.”

“I don’t care! I know The Donquixote Family is around somewhere and if any of them find out where we are, we’re gonna need to be able to see damnit!”

“Yes, Sir!”

One of the grunts of the group stumbled out of the room and straight into Rosinante.

Rosinante caught him, dragged him behind the interior wall, and silently wrapped an arm around his neck to choke him out until he went limp in Rosinante’s arms and blacked out. He set his body down as quietly as he could and looked back into the foyer.

If he could just get a clear shot to Diez Barrels…

He wondered how many people he could draw out and incapacitate like he just did with the last guy.

Turns out he didn’t have to wait long to find out because before he knew it, three other members of the crime family were stumbling into him, and then the rest was all a blur.

Rosinante had no other choice but to produce the gun from his breast pocket to defend himself. He did his best to refrain from wasting bullets and shooting prematurely, choosing to use the gun as a club to knock out guys instead.

But then they started making a commotion and it was only a matter of seconds before Rosinante was completely overwhelmed.

His size and darkness gave him an advantage. Different thugs charged in his general direction but Rosinante was able to disorient everyone by using his unconscious attackers as human shields and further confusing the rest.

It gave him the perfect opportunity to enter the foyer.

Diez Barrels was standing in the center, possessively holding the fruit to his chest.

“You’re not getting this, Doflamingo! You can fucking try but I won’t let you have it!”

Over Rosinante’s dead body was he going to let some second rate crime boss keep the only thing that stood between Trafalgar Law and life.

It was embarrassing how easy it was for Rosinante to walk right up to Diez. Maybe it was the darkness of the house or maybe it was the fact he just most of his guys to attack Rosinante in the hallway, but it was a straight shot.

Rosinante pressed the barrel of his gun to Diez’s temple.

“Give me the Ope-Ope fruit or I will blow your fuckin’ brains out,” he said lowly.

He could hear Diez swallow.

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands,” he snapped.

He whipped out a gun and leveled it at Rosinante, but Rosinante was faster. He quickly pointed his gun at Diez’s leg and squeezed the trigger. He yelped in pain and collapsed to the floor, cursing up a storm about the Donquixote Family. Rosinante took that as an opportunity to pluck the fruit right from his hands and shove it in his pocket.

“BOSS!”

Ah shit.

The group of idiots Rosinante left in the hallway all came back into the foyer with guns blazing.

Literally.

One sailed right into his thigh, another into his abdomen. He cursed and fired his gun at them, though his shots were wild because of the darkness.

His ears rang from all the bangs and he could smell gunpowder in the air. In another circumstance, he probably would have hung back and fought them off, but there was a sick boy waiting for him in a shack in the village who needed him to survive.

So when one of the windows shattered because of a stray bullet, Rosinante used that as his escape. Letting the filtered moonlight guide him, he ran over to the open window, kicked out the broken glass, and vaulted himself through it.

He landed on the leg with the bullet in it and instantly crumpled to the ground.

“Fucking hell,” he swore.

He pulled himself off, letting the adrenaline keep him upright and hobbled away when Diez Barrels screamed at everyone to hunt Rosinante down because he stole the Ope-Ope fruit. He made it approximately six steps before he tripped over a rock or _something_ and before he knew it, he was tumbling down a hill with zero control of his body.

He landed at the bottom of the hill that led up to the mansion and had the wind completely knocked from his lungs. He could feel the bullet in his leg and two injuries in his side that made it near goddamn impossible to get a proper breath in. He wheezed, trying to get some air into his lungs, and squeezed his eyes shut to get through the searing hot wave of pain.

And when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a small boy standing over him with a speckled face and an oversized hat

“Law!” Rosinante gasped. He gritted his teeth and pressed a hand to a particularly painful bullet wound in his side. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I heard gunshots, Idiot! I told you to be careful!” he shouted.

Rosinante winced and pulled himself up so he could at least take a knee.

“Cora?” Law asked, voice tighter than Rosinante had ever heard before.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the waxy skin of the object, and produced the little heart-shaped fruit with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Look what I got!”

Law’s sunken in eyes homed in on the red fruit and his mouth fell open.

“Is that…”

“Yes!” he shoved it towards Law. “Hurry up and eat it!”

“Cora, wait—”

“There’s not enough time, Law!” he pressed. The adrenaline was going to drive him insane because his heart was racing a million miles a minute and the desperate need for Law to consume the only possible cure took over any sense he had left. When Law tried to talk some sense into him, he lost himself to the desperation and anxiety, and shoved the fruit into Law’s mouth, shouting at him to _hurry up_ and _eat_ the damn thing already.

Law slapped him in the face while he choked down the fruit. Rosinante had a moment where he felt a little bad, especially when he saw the discomfort Law was in, but that only last a short moment because once Law got the thing down and more importantly, kept it down, he laughed in relief and collapsed face first into the snow.

“YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT!” Law berated him. “I COULD HAVE CHOKED, STUPID!”

Rosinante could feel the adrenaline fizzle away as the snow burned his bare face. He groaned and pushed himself over so he was lying on his back instead of his stomach and stared into the night sky.

He was getting tired and deep down; he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t make it out alive. Especially now that he could hardly lift his head and that Doffy was somewhere on the island looking for him.

“Cora, you’re hurt. You need medical attention,” Law said. He knelt down beside Rosinante and started inspecting the wounds on his chest. There weren’t many, at least two, possibly three. And sure, it wasn’t great. But Rosinante needed Law to worry about himself.

“I’m all right. Law, listen to me,” he said. “There’s something I need you to do since I can’t really walk right now.”

Law gave a determined nod.

On the chance that Rosinante didn’t make it off of the island alive, he needed to get a message to Sengoku so that the last four years of his life weren’t wasted. He had a working letter he’d been writing on and off over the last few months and at that moment, he was beyond thankful for it.

He produced the letter that was locked away in a small black tube and pressed it into Law’s chilled hands.

“I know you hate cops and the FBI and the government—and I don’t blame you for one second, Law. But there are FBI agents on the shore of this island and I need you to give this to one of them. They’ll all know what to do with it.”

Law’s jaw locked and he looked down at the little black tube with his lips pursing into a thin line.

“I’m so sorry I have to make you do this, but it’s really important,” Rosinante said gently. He hated having to ask Law to do something that would hurt him so much, but Rosinante wasn’t physically able to do it himself and it had to be done.

Law swallowed loud enough for Rosinante to hear but after a moment passed, he nodded.

“I can do that. I’ll bring someone back to help you too,” he said.

Rosinante offered him a weak smile and with what little strength he had left, he patted Law on the top of his head.

“Thank you.”

Law scurried off and left Rosinante to lie there, alone and bleeding in the snow.

His eyelids immediately felt fifty times heavier and not even the numbing cold on his back or the icy snowflakes falling on his cheeks were enough to keep him awake. Each breath felt like someone was twisting a knife into his organs and he could taste metal on his tongue.

A cigarette would have been the best way to keep him conscious but it was so hard. His eyelids kept fluttering shut and it was so, _so_ easy to drift away.

He flinched through another deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut through the pain. He decided to stick to shallow breaths from that point on.

Shit, if he didn’t think about the hell he just put himself through it would almost be peaceful—falling asleep in a snowbank.

Almost…

_The rain came down in sheets as a young Rosinante stumbled across a beach. For the first time in his life, he was alone. His mother was gone. His father was gone._

_His brother was gone._

_He’d been living alone for weeks. He took shelter in alleyways and dumpsters. He slept with rats and ate moldy food as he suffered through the rainy season._

_And all because Doffy chose_ them _over his own brother._

_It was nighttime and the only light came from the lighthouse on the opposite end of the beach. It wasn’t an ideal place for the boy, especially given the raging storm, but he’d been chased out of every alley in the town and he needed a place for refuge, and he was pretty sure there was a cave somewhere up ahead._

_“Hey,” a voice said._

_Panic pulsed through the boy’s veins and he looked over his shoulder at where a hulking figure with massive shoulders loomed behind him._

_Rosinante gasped and_ bolted _. He couldn’t take another beating. Not after the one he got last week for lurking outside a restaurant. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t—_

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” another voice said, this one coming from just ahead of Rosinante with an equally massive frame, but a shorter one. “Where you goin’, Punk?”_

_A powerful hand landed on his shoulder and the tears were instantaneous._

_“Let me go!” he shrieked, praying like hell that the rain washed away his tears so they wouldn’t know how weak he was._

_“Why you running?” the one currently holding him there asked._

_Rosinante failed his limbs around to try and get away but he was going on several days without a single morsel of food and he was so tired. So instead, he just weakly fought against his captor and cried._

_“You’re scaring him, Garp,” another voice, the one from before, said._

_“He was running! He probably stole something.”_

_“I didn’t mean to!” Rosinante cried. “I-I’m just hungry.”_

_The tears got worse until he was a disaster, mucus running down his nose and rain beating down on his reddened face._

_“Hey, calm down.”_

_The tight grip on his shoulder disappeared but it was replaced with two new hands on both of his shoulders, though it felt infinitely softer and almost warm._

_Rosinante sniffled and squinted the tears and rain out of his eyes to see a man with black hair and glasses kneeling down in front of him._

_“What’s your name, Son?”_

_He sniffled again, trying to keep the tears at bay. The man seemed to have a kind face. His lip didn’t curl. He didn’t glare. He didn’t try to slap Rosinante around. He just looked at him and anchored him down with the warm weight on his shoulders._

_“…Rosinante.”_

“Cora! Cora, wake up! I got us help!”

Rosinante’s eyes flickered open when Law’s voice filled his ears. How much time had passed? Did he sleep for long? He didn’t feel too cold, so it couldn’t have been that long.

“Cora, come on! He’s going to help!”

Rosinante struggled to sit up and looked for the agent Law brought with him. Hopefully, it would be someone Rosinante knew or at least knew of. With any luck, it would be someone from Sengoku’s unit.

But when his eyes landed on a familiar, tall man with a head of jet black hair, sharply trimmed facial hair, and dark sunglasses, his stomach hit the floor.

Vergo…

Rosinante was going to throw up.

So that was the secret mission he was sent off on all those years ago. Oh fucking hell. The _irony_.

“Well, this is unexpected. Or maybe it’s not,” Vergo drawled. He took slow steps to where Rosinante was struggling to sit up in the snow, glasses reflecting in the moonlight.

“Vergo, wai—”

He was cut off by a sharp kick to the diaphragm, the same diaphragm that was littered with bullet wounds, and Rosinante simultaneously gasped for breath while he gagged in pain, curling into the fetal position.

“I wish I could say I was surprised when I read that note but I _knew_ you were a traitor,” Vergo hissed. “I asked Young Master not to take you back when you showed up again after all that time. I begged him to cast you out.”

Rosinante grunted and spat out a mouthful of blood.

“I’m sure that’s not all you begged him for,” he muttered.

Another swift kick to the gut, only it was accompanied by a knee to the chest this time.

Fucking great.

“Cora!” Law cried out.

_Fuck_. Law couldn’t be there. He needed to get to Sengoku or Tsuru or anyone in the FBI who wasn’t goddamn _Vergo_. He needed to get to someone who could protect him.

“Law,” he wheezed between breaths. “ _Run!_ ”

He could see the turmoil in the boy’s eyes despite the way Rosinante’s own eyes were foggy with pain.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Vergo deadpanned.

He reached out and grabbed Law by the scruff of his neck and held him close to his face, inspecting him like he was a rat. His lip then curled and before Rosinante could blink, he swung his arm back and _punched_ Law so the boy went flying into the boulder that was directly on Rosinante’s left.

The sound Law’s body made when it collided with the surface of the rock could have made Rosinante vomit. Law wheezed as the air was knocked from his sickly lungs and he coughed until his face was purple, his chest rattled, and spit bubbled in the corners of his mouth.

How fucking _dare_ Vergo lay a finger on Law?

A rage that was entirely unfamiliar filled Rosinante. The furious heat that pulsed through his veins and expanded his lungs overwhelmed all other senses until he could hardly feel any pain at all.

Rosinante lunged for Vergo, and thanks to his absurd height, grappled with him until they collapsed into the snow with Rosinante on top and Vergo beneath him. Rosinante pinned Vergo down by the neck and brought his free arm back and swung it down, connecting it with Vergo’s face until there was a satisfying crack of bone and cartilage from where the man’s nose was now broken.

“Get _off_ —” Vergo snarled, struggling against where Rosinante struck him again.

“What? You only like it when another Donquixote is on top of you?” Rosinante snapped, swinging his fist again and connecting it with Vergo’s jaw. “I thought you _adored_ our royal bloodline?” Rosinante’s knuckles were coated in a slick red substance. He knew he should have stopped but the sound of Law’s bones colliding with the boulder still echoed in the back of his head. “I should have killed you that first night I joined the Family, you sack of shit!”

Vergo grunted and covered the hand around his throat with his own and used his free hand to push back Rosinante’s face.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off but thanks to their difference in body weight, Rosinante was able to keep Vergo pinned to the ground.

“ _I_ should have killed _you_ ,” Vergo snapped as he clawed at Rosinante’s hand around his neck. “You’ve never been deserving of Doffy.”

Rosinante wanted to laugh and probably would have had it not been for the bullet holes that riddled his abdomen.

He leaned as close to Vergo as he could manage, close enough for the man to feel Rosinante’s metallic breath on his face.

“You’ve always been jealous of me because I have a bond with him that you will _never_ have.”

The same switch that went off when Rosinante heard Law hit the boulder must have gone off in Vergo because before he knew it, Vergo yelled at the top of his lungs and kneed him hard between his legs, causing Rosinante to double over and groan.

Vergo was on top of him in a flash, swinging his fist down and connecting it with Rosinante’s jaw and knocking out one of his teeth.

“I can’t wait to deliver your traitorous body to Doffy,” he shouted. He punched again and again and again, landing hits on Rosinante’s face and body, and snarling as he did it. “A rat like you managing to deceive him! It’s pathetic!”

Vergo’s punches were always strong but Rosinante forgot how strong. He forgot how many people Vergo killed with his bare hands alone.

Fuck. Rosinante could tank hits but this many from _Vergo_? He was going to blackout soon if he didn’t—

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

A shrill voice cut through the wind and snow of the island and Rosinante’s heart stuttered.

Oh Law…

The boy ran up to them and pounded on Vergo’s back with his trembling fists, tears beading in the corner of his eyes.

He was terrified.

The way his eyes filled with tears and the way they doubled in size. The way his lip quivered as he tried to stop Vergo from doing the inevitable… Rosinante had never seen Law so genuinely scared before.

Vergo hardly spared Law a passing glance and as if in slow motion, just barely pulled back from Rosinante and reached for Law, hand already curled into a fist.

It hit Rosinante all at once that if Vergo landed a singular hit on Law, the boy would die. The enzyme of the Ope-Ope fruit couldn’t save him from the blunt force trauma of Vergo’s fists. His fragile body could not and would not take a second hit from Vergo, especially not when the man was so bloodlusted.

He made the decision in a split second, summoning all of the strength he had left and relied on the sheer force of his will to stay conscious long enough to pull himself up, grip the collar of Vergo’s shirt, rock his head back and slam it into Vergo’s temple so hard that Rosinante saw stars.

Whether due to the placement or the suddenness of the hit, it knocked Vergo right out.

Rosinante winced and rubbed his forehead. He could taste something metallic on his tongue and spat out another tooth and a mouthful of blood, staining the snow red.

He sighed and struggled to get to his feet.

“Can you walk?” he asked Law while he tried to catch his breath.

Law blinked at him in disbelief and just like that, the glassiness in his eyes was gone and a fierce determination took over his expression.

“Mhm.”

“Good,” Rosinante said, wincing again as the pain began to register throughout his body. “He won’t be out for long so we need to go.”

He staggered his way through the snow. It reached just above his ankles and Law had a hard time trudging through it, but he managed. In any other situation, Rosinante would have picked him up and carried him, but he was too injured for that. The bullet wounds from the Barrels Family and the injuries inflicted by Vergo were too much and he was already lightheaded.

They just needed to get to the shore. If they could get to the shore then Tsuru would be there and—

Rosinante could hear a chorus of voices in the distance, all of which were painfully familiar.

His heart skipped a beat and he looked at Law beside him.

The boy’s eyes doubled in size and he drifted closer to Rosinante.

Rosinante sucked in a breath and surveyed their surroundings. It was pretty barren, but there were a couple of old buildings only a few yards away. To be honest, they weren’t really houses, they looked more like abandoned shacks. They each had broken windows and rotting wood corners, so it wouldn’t be possible to barricade themselves in.

But Rosinante had another idea when he saw the cases covered in snow around them.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said.

Rosinante gestured for Law to follow him over to the shack with three or four wooden chests around it and collapsed to his knees when the pain finally caught up to him.

“Cora!”

“I’m okay,” Rosinante said quickly. He pressed a hand to his abdomen and pushed open the lid on the nearest chest. It was filled with cash and a stupid amount of it too. Rosinante immediately assumed it came from Diez Barrels and wondered how much of his loot was out there.

But that was good. If there were chests with money in them, then there was no way Doffy would ignore that.

“They’re gonna find us any minute so you need to hide. I’m gonna put you in one of these chests. Chances are they’re gonna open up one, see the money, and then take them all back to the shore with them. The FBI is waiting there and that’s when you’ll be safe to get out, okay?”

Law narrowed his eyes and looked apprehensively at the wooden chest.

“But what about you? You have to hide,” he said, mouth twisting into a harsh frown.

Rosinante’s stomach knotted and he could taste bile at the back of his throat. He knew what awaited him and was prepared to face it. But Law? After the hell he’d been through? He would never accept Rosinante’s fate so easily.

And Rosinante needed him to for his own safety.

Rosinante patted his head and smiled.

“I know how harsh Doffy is, but I’m gonna be just fine. I’m his brother. He would never do anything to actually hurt me. He might rough me up a little bit and say some awful things, but I’ll be okay. We’ll get down the shore, I’ll be with Doffy, and you’ll be able to make your escape and I won’t be far behind you. Okay?”

Law bit down on his bottom lip, clearly not fully on board with the idea, but the voices were getting closer and they were desperate. So Law gave in with a sigh and nodded. He climbed into a chest that was filled with cash and Rosinante prepared another chest to go on top of Law’s.

The Family was close enough now that Rosinante could hear Doffy’s voice and that was when the reality hit him harder than one of Vergo’s punches.

He wasn’t scared for himself. He had been ready to die for four years now.

But he was scared for Law and damnit it all, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it.

“Remember to be quiet, okay?” Rosinante said gently.

Law nodded and sat in the box without a word.

This was it. This was the last time they would likely ever see each other. The four years of undercover work and the bond he formed with Law were both about to be ripped right from his hands.

And no matter what happened, Rosinante wanted Law to know the truth. He wanted the boy to know that Rosinante wasn’t helping him because of his name or because of some other reason.

“Law,” he said just before he closed the lid.

He decided that he wanted Law to remember his smile above all else. Wanted the boy to remember that love was more powerful than all the hate and tragedy he endured.

“I love you,” he said, painting the widest, cheesiest, most obnoxious grin he could muster.

Law scoffed at him, “what the hell is that face, you stupid clown!”

Rosinante let himself laugh, or maybe he forced it, he wasn’t sure. Then he closed the lid, placed a lighter chest on top, and lowered himself to the ground, resting his back against the chest Law hid in.

He struggled to catch his breath from the energy he exerted on his way over there but it was just in time for Doffy and his stupid lackeys to fully enter the clearing.

Despite being several feet away, Doffy still towered over Rosinante, and as if he wasn’t powerful enough, he made it a point to say goodbye to Vergo and to hang up his cellphone before he said anything to Rosinante.

“So you’re an undercover FBI agent, hm?” Doffy said.

Rosinante pressed his back against the wooden chest and stared at his brother. He was flanked by all of his executives and soldiers, towering above every single one of them, dressed in a dark pink suit with his light pink feathered coat draped over his shoulders.

“You betrayed me.”

He looked so powerful and strong. Mighty even.

Yet despite that, Rosinante could still see glimpses of his child brother. He could still see Doffy telling him stories over the sounds of rain, could still see him holding his hand as they ran through the streets, could still see him promising that their mother would be okay if she only slept enough.

And suddenly, for a brief moment, Rosinante felt sad.

“I betrayed you,” he admitted.

Doffy didn’t lunge at him right away. Instead, he walked closer until his shadow fell across Rosinante’s body.

“Why?” Doffy asked. His voice was louder than the howling wind but somehow softer than the falling snow.

“You know why,” Rosinante answered. He shifted against the chest and reached into his own feathered jacket for a cigarette. The movement caused electric shocks of pain to jolt through his torso and agitate his oozing gunshot wounds, but if he was about to die, then he at least was going to smoke one last cigarette.

Rosinante put the cigarette between his lips and said a weak, “help me out here, Doffy.”

He almost expected his brother to kick his teeth in… But he didn’t.

Doffy approached him until Rosinante could feel the heat radiate off of his body. He crouched down directly in front of him, reached a hand into Rosinante’s left jacket pocket, and produced a lighter.

Rosinante waited for Doffy to set him on fire or to choke him out right there, but he surprised him again by actually lighting the cigarette.

“Thanks.”

Doffy didn’t move. Not even as Rosinante blew bitter smoke right in his face.

“Where is the Ope-Ope fruit?”

“I fed it to Law.”

Doffy’s mouth twitched.

“And where is Law?”

Rosinante took a slow drag of the cigarette and held the smoke in his injured lungs for as long as he could. It smoothed the inside of his mouth and throat, and the taste of tobacco clouded the taste of blood on his tongue.

“Gone. He’s free, Doffy. Free from you and the Family and everything else in this fucked up place.”

Doffy’s mouth twitched again and his jaw clenched. He reached a hand out and rested it on the back of Rosinante’s neck the way he had done so many times over the last four years. His fingers pressed down until Rosinante’s neck ached but he didn’t fight it. He was on borrowed time anyway.

“My own flesh and blood,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to Rosinante.

Rosinante took another drag of the cigarette and waited for Doffy to snap his neck.

“I went against everyone to bring you in. They all told me to kill you when you showed up on the beach after all those years. I went out on a limb for you. I gave you _everything_ and this is what you give me,” he murmured, squeezing on the back of Rosinante’s neck until it was surely bruised.

Rosinante took one last puff of the cigarette before he let it fall from his lips straight into the snow.

“You’re a monster, Doffy,” he said, smoke peppering his words. “You’ve _always_ been a monster.”

Doffy scoffed and released the back of Rosinante’s neck, opting to plant a possessive, iron grip on his chin instead.

“Oh _grow up_ , Rosi,” he snarled. His breath was hot and it overwhelmed all of Rosinante’s oxygen. “I could have made you as strong as me. I could have made you my equal. But instead of actually working towards something, you chose to be that same scared, little kid, still crying in the fucking rain.”

Rosinante could have laughed.

Oh, the rain.

The last time Rosinante ever saw Doffy as a child had been in the rain.

Doffy walking away from him, Rosinante falling to his knees in a puddle, crying—no _begging_ —not to be left alone. Begging his own brother not to leave him to die in the streets… Doffy choosing Trebol instead. Doffy walking away from the little brother that so desperately needed him.

“Don’t talk to me about the rain,” Rosinante retorted, even though it hurt to say anything with the way Doffy’s fingers dug into his chin. “You don’t get to say anything to me about the rain after the things you’ve put me through.”

Rosinante imagined Doffy rolling his eyes behind those rosy glasses.

“Oh get _over_ it!”

“I am over it! I’m over _all_ of it,” Rosinante snapped. He put his hand on Doffy’s wrist and pried his hand from his chin. “I’m not the one with the guilty conscience here.”

Doffy fumed but he didn’t grab Rosinante again. He only locked his jaw as his fingers twitched.

A heavy moment passed between them. They locked gazes and seemed to share one breath, inhaling and exhaling in perfect unison.

The snow continued to fall from the sky and mute the sounds around them. It slowly bled through his clothes until his skin was numb from the cold, despite the warmth his feathered jacket provided him.

Doffy didn’t look bothered by the cold. If anything the snowflakes made him look godlier. Perfect little crests of ice landed on his jacket and in his hair. The crystals reflected in the moonlight above them, making Doffy look like he was showered in a fine diamond glitter.

Rosinante smirked to himself and let his head rock back against the chest behind him.

“What is so funny, Rosi?” Doffy hissed.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just the snow. Looks a lot like dust specks, huh?”

Doffy faltered. His shoulders tensed and his neck strained. It actually made Rosinante wonder if Doffy would really do it. If he would really end Rosinante’s life.

Doffy put his hand to the back of Rosinante’s neck again, much gentler this time, and leaned forward so their foreheads touched and so Rosinante was completely and utterly inundated with his brother’s presence.

His voice was just above a whisper when he said, “you made me do this, Rosi. _You_ did. You can’t talk to me about the rain or Mom or the dust specks and think any of it will change my mind. It won’t work.”

There was a strange lilt to his voice that made him sound all too distant and Rosinante could feel his pulse quicken beneath his skin.

Then there was a cool metal barrel pressed against his temple and Rosinante let out a heavy sigh. He’d been expecting this. He’d been waiting for Doffy to make a move, whether it be with a knife to his throat or a gun to his temple.

But for some reason he still felt disappointed.

“Pick a dust speck, Rosi. Pick one and watch it and remember that I didn’t want to do this to you.” There it was again. That strange, unhinged lilt. Almost as if Doffy was sad? “Remember that _you_ made me do this. Remember that I gave you so many fucking chances and that you still betrayed me.”

He lingered a moment longer, sharing one last breath with his younger brother, and then he pulled back and Rosinante could suddenly breathe again.

There was the gun Rosinante had stashed away in the breast pocket of his jacket. A small one that was already low and bullets and that could not offer any protection, but a one that could maybe deal some damage to his brother.

And maybe it was too late, but he made a move for it. At the very least, he would go down with a fight.

But Doffy was faster.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Rosinante’s body was flung back against the chest where he’d hidden Law. He grunted and despite the pain that bled through the adrenaline, he somehow managed to grit his teeth just hard enough to fire off a few blind shots.

He just didn’t know if they hit Doffy because his brother wouldn’t stop firing the gun.

Three, four, five… Six, seven, eight.

Nine? Ten? Eleven? … _Twelve_?

How many times would Doffy shoot him?

Rosinante couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t even think.

He grunted and his head fell back and he landed in the snow. It felt like someone took a cheese grater to his insides. Felt like he’d been dipped in lava. The flesh of his torso screamed as it was ripped open and his lungs—fucking hell his _lungs!_

Doffy might have said something. At least, Rosinante thought he did, but he couldn’t quite hear anything over the ringing in his eardrums.

He couldn’t get a full breath in. Every time he tried he was overcome with the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. He groaned and desperately clutched at his chest as if he could hold himself together.

Different Family members walked by, each taking one of the chests behind him to carry back to the clubhouse. Against all odds, he kept his eyes open long enough to make sure they took the chest with Law in it.

And they did. Now all Law had to do was hop out of the chest when the Family inevitably ran into Tsuru on the beach. If he could do that, then he could be free.

It was only a shame that Rosinante wouldn’t be there to see Law truly get a taste of that freedom.

Relief washed over him as he stared at the night sky, watching the snowfall.

It was almost euphoric. Laying there in the snow as he slowly lost consciousness and pain drifted away.

The snow really did look like dust specks and he couldn’t help but wonder if his mother would have thought the same thing. Maybe she would have liked the snow for the same reason. Maybe his father would have smiled at her as she talked about it.

His thoughts drifted away from his parents and they fixed themselves back on Law.

He hoped the boy wouldn’t be too angry. He prayed like hell that some day, some way, Law would find peace. Maybe become a doctor in a small town or a big city. He had to. It was in his blood after all, and he would be incredible. He was smart and oh so clever, had a mind like a steel trap. He was going to make a fantastic healer one day if he could just let some of that anger go.

Rosinante smiled to himself.

It was worth it—being Doffy’s puppet for four years. It was all, so, incredibly worth it if it meant Law got a second chance at life.

He closed his eyes and let the euphoria take hold.

Maybe one day in another life they would meet again.

Just maybe…

* * *

**_ 13 years later - present day _ **

The first thing Rosinante saw when he came to were dust specks.

Wait. That wasn’t right?

They had to be dust specks though. They were so faint. So what else could they be? But they were a little large to be dust specks. So then…?

Rosinante blinked the fog out of his eyes and more came into focus this time. There was the ugly yellow light from the courtroom, several figures hovering over him, and then he realized that he wasn’t focusing on dust specks at all but rather he was focusing on a set of scars.

Amber Lead Syndrome scars. The same ones that peppered _Law’s_ face.

He was so much older compared to Rosinante’s memory. There were tiny little crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and there was a hardened look in those gold-rimmed irises that seemed sharper than thirteen years ago.

“Give him some air,” Law barked in a voice much deeper than Rosinante remembered, and right on command, the other figures that hovered over him backed off.

Rosinante blinked again and reached a hand up to touch the back of his head where he felt a bump and he winced.

“Cora, you idiot! I tried to tell you to _breathe!_ ”

_Cora_.

Goddamn. It’d been thirteen years since someone called him that.

There was a hand around his wrist and two fingers pressing into his pulse point there and Law’s face was suddenly very focused, like he was counting or something.

“He’s fine. He just had a panic attack,” another voice, this one much more familiar, said.

“He shouldn’t _be_ blacking out because of panic attacks, Sengoku! If you’d just let me examine him the other day in the hospital then maybe…”

Rosinante didn’t listen to the rest of the words because it was too surreal.

Law was alive. In the flesh. Thirteen years older. And _healthy_. The dust specks that kissed his skin weren’t active patches of disease anymore. They were just faint scars to serve as a reminder of the hell he clawed himself out of.

Against all odds, Trafalgar Law had _survived_.

Rosinante didn’t pay much attention as Law and Sengoku bickered and as Kuzan suddenly appeared on his left to ask a question. He didn’t hear any of it.

He reached out, laid a hand on Law’s arm, and pulled him hard against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around Law’s shoulders in a giant bear hug and squeezed as hard as he possibly could because he was _alive._

Rosinante’s sacrifice on Minion Island hadn’t been for nothing. The Ope-Ope fruit healed Law and he went on to become a surgeon and a healer, just the way Rosinante had hoped he would.

Law stiffened in the embrace but Rosinante didn’t care. Fucking hell, Law was lucky he wasn’t crying yet.

“…Cora, I don’t think now is the best time for this.”

“I haven’t seen you in thirteen years, Brat. You’re going to have to get the hell over it,” he retorted with a soft smile, squeezing Law even harder if that was at all possible.

Now that Law was a full grown, healthy man, Rosinante _could_ hug him as hard as he wanted. When he was just a boy there was always a risk of genuinely injuring him, but now he was fine. He was _strong_ and _healthy_ and fucking hell Rosinante really was going to cry.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, whether to himself or Law, he wasn’t sure. But either way, Law heard it and gave a soft sigh and seemed to relax a little.

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

“And you’re not sick.”

“No, Cora. I’m not sick.”

Rosinante laughed in disbelief and released Law, only as soon as he was within arm’s length again, Rosinante took Law’s face in both of his hands and inspected it, just to make sure it was real and not some fucked up dream.

“Look at you,” he said between delirious laughter. “You’re a doctor and _healthy_ and—”

“Cora,” Law said again, putting his hands over Rosinante’s and gently pulling them away from his face. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to see you but I need to examine you.”

“Why?” he blurted. “I feel fine.”

“Because you just blacked out in the middle of your live testimony. That’s why,” a voice at Rosinante’s right drawled.

He looked over his shoulder to see Judge Kong standing there with his arms crossed and nose slightly curled.

“Oh.”

“I think this goes without saying, but we all need a recess,” he added with a heavy, obviously agitated, sigh. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

There was a commotion in the courtroom as people got up and whispered to each other on their way out, and Rosinante sat there on the floor, like a complete idiot, surrounded by Garp, Sengoku, Law, Kuzan, and Akainu.

“ _This_ is why I didn’t want the two of them to meet before his testimony,” Sengoku grumbled. “He’s too damn emotional.”

“Trafalgar,” Akainu growled. He leveled a cold stare at Law and crossed his arms. “You and I are going to have a talk.”

Law didn’t look impressed. He had the same unimpressed, bored look in his eyes that he did thirteen years ago.

“You sure he’s all right?” Kong asked.

“He’s fine,” both Law and Sengoku said in unison.

“If Crocodile hadn’t resorted to sleazy tactics then none of this would have happened,” Kuzan retorted. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and scowled in Crocodile’s direction.

“Don’t worry about Crocodile,” Kong said. “He’ll be sanctioned to high heaven when this is all over.”

“Good,” Akainu deadpanned.

“You’ll need to finish your testimony tomorrow, Mr. Donquixote. I’d suggest getting some rest,” Judge Kong said. He left in a flurry of black robes after that, stopping once only to level a nasty glare at Crocodile.

Once he was out of the courtroom, Sengoku helped Rosinante to his feet and was assaulted with questions. Questions from Sengoku, Akainu, Kuzan. Hell, even Garp asked some questions.

The only one who didn’t seem too keen on grilling him was Law. And out of everyone, that was the one person Rosinante expected questions from.

But then there was a horrible sound that filled the near empty room. An awful thing that filled Rosinante’s nightmares.

Doffy’s laugh.

“You just won’t die, Rosi,” Doffy said between laughter. He stood up from his seat at the table where Crocodile was packing up materials and grinned.

Rosinante locked his jaw and swallowed back the lump in his throat. He wanted to say something— _anything_ really.

But he didn’t trust himself.

“Shut the hell up,” Crocodile grunted. He slammed a suitcase shut and patted Doffy on the back too hard to be friendly. “You just got me sanctioned.”

“Me? How is that my fault?” Doffy asked, still grinning.

Always fucking grinning.

“Listen up, Bird Man. If you want any shot at a deal, then you’re gonna have to shut the hell up for once in your miserable goddamn life,” Crocodile snapped in a gravelly voice. “Let’s go. Say something again and I’m firing you as a client and letting your ass rot in Impel Down.”

What the fuck…?

Doffy would let someone talk to him like that? And someone _he_ hired no less?

Because of where the door out of the courtroom was, Doffy and Crocodile would have to walk right by where Rosinante and everyone else was. And they did. Oh hell, they did.

Crocodile kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, holding his chin high and keeping his shoulders back. He clearly didn’t want any trouble, but he must not have counted on having Doffy as a client because Doffy always wanted trouble.

He stopped right at the table Kuzan and Akainu had sat at during the trial and leveled a grin in Rosinante’s direction.

“I coulda made something of you,” he said.

“What the fuck did I say, Doflamingo?” Crocodile snarled, turning on his heel and grabbing Doffy’s elbow.

“I coulda made something of both of you,” he added. He nodded his head at Law who was directly on Rosinante’s left and a familiar, protective rage flooded Rosinante’s veins.

Rosinante took a step forward, ready to throw everything on the line because what the _fuck_ was Doffy thinking? After all this time and he still had to flex his power? After all this time and he still had the mother fucking audacity to say _anything_ about Law to his face?

He didn’t get more than a step forward though because there were two hands on his shoulders, Kuzan holding an arm in front of him, and Akainu holding an arm in front of Doflamingo.

“If you think I will ever offer you a plea deal, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Akainu hissed. “I will _personally_ see to you getting the maximum sentence in Impel Down.”

Doffy laughed and Crocodile sighed.

Rosinante looked directly into those rose-tinted glasses in the moment between the end of his laugh and the start of Crocodile physically pulling him away. The glasses reflected and for a split second, Rosinante swore he saw a glimpse of a much younger boy with light blond hair and a bloody bandage over his left eye.

But then as quickly as he saw it, it vanished and all that was left was a deranged middle aged man with a taste for blood.

And then he was gone, dragged out before he could dig himself a deeper hole.

Rosinante let out a heavy breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You gonna be all right to finish testifying tomorrow?” Kuzan asked once they were gone.

“Yeah,” Rosinante said. “Sorry. I just had a moment.”

“Well you better not have another one tomorrow,” Akainu warned. He stalked away after that and Kuzan begrudgingly followed.

That left Garp, Sengoku, Rosinante, and Law.

“Someone… I don’t care who. But someone owes me an explanation,” Rosinante said tiredly.

Garp kept his pinky up his nose as he averted his eyes by looking off to the side and Sengoku’s lips pursed into a tight line as he crossed his arms over his chest. Neither of them seemed particularly willing to have this conversation.

“Listen, Punk,” Garp tried with a sheepish grin when he finally removed his pinky from his nose. “You get a little emotional, so we thought—”

“He has panic disorder,” Law deadpanned. “And PTSD. And probably much more.”

Rosinante rubbed the back of his neck. Was he really that easy to read?

“Okay well that’s why we thought it would be a good idea—”

“To hide the truth so your case didn’t get screwed up,” Law said, voice still eerily monotoned and oh so obviously not amused.

“All right, I know you’re buddy-buddy with Luffy but you need to watch your mouth—”

“Or what?” Law pressed.

Garp gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist. There was only so much backtalk he could take before he popped a damn blood vessel, and if Law was anything like he was as a child, then he wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

“Enough,” Sengoku intervened. He looked directly at Rosinante and frowned. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you, Rosi. I thought it was the right decision and I should have known better.”

“You think?” Law muttered.

Rosinante almost laughed. Some things never changed.

“Zip it,” Rosinante said as he nudged Law with his elbow.

“But to be fair, you had the exact reaction I was trying to avoid,” Sengoku said.

“Maybe if you had told him the truth, he wouldn’t have had a complete meltdown when he realized who I was,” Law snapped.

Sengoku bristled and Rosinante could see where this was going, so he planted a hand on Law’s shoulder and stepped in to try and diffuse the situation.

“I need a smoke break. We can talk about this some other—”

“No, you do _not_ need a smoke break!” Law all but shouted. “Didn’t I already tell you that your lungs were a damn mess? Are you a goddamn idiot? It’s been thirteen years and you’re still as stupid as ever if you’re willingly smoking after what happened to you! For fuck’s sake, are you trying to give me an aneurysm?”

Rosinante blinked.

The man standing beside and berating him may have been twenty-six years old. He may have had dark circles under his eyes, tattoos on his hands, and the face of a full grown man. But Rosinante couldn’t help but see an angry little thirteen year old boy, who was too skinny for his own good and filled with a fiery temper.

He was still the same Law, even after all that time and all that trauma.

Heat pricked at the back of his eyes.

All of the suffering had been worth it. Every gunshot he suffered. Every nightmare he had.

All of it had been worth it.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Law asked, voice just a bit softer than before.

Rosinante let out an exhausted laugh in spite of himself and slung an arm around Law’s shoulders, pulling him in for a tight embrace.

Minion Island was still tattooed on the backs of his eyelids. The way he grinned and told Law he loved him before he shut him away in that chest. The way he gave himself up to Doffy so the boy would have a chance. It was all so clear.

“Because,” Rosinante started, all too aware of the heat in his eyes. “because you’re _alive_ , Brat!”

The silence that settled around them was thick, but oddly enough, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Even despite the way Rosinante’s sniffles began to echo around them, it still wasn’t some terrible, overwhelming thing.

Law took in a deep breath and he weakly returned the embrace, settling with patting Rosinante’s back with one hand.

“Cora, _I’m_ the one who should be surprised, you idiot,” he said quietly.

Rosinante sniffled again and let go of Law as he tried to get a hold of himself. But he couldn’t totally let go of the kid. He was alive and Rosinante needed all the confirmation in the world, so he opted for anchoring a hand on his shoulder and squeezing probably a little too hard just to make sure he was real. And if it bothered Law, he gave no indication.

“So, you’re not sick anymore? The Ope-Ope fruit really cured you?” he asked. He stared at the scars on Law’s face. They looked identical to the way they’d been thirteen years ago. Just little pale blotches of discoloration along his jaw and on his cheeks.

“I’m not sick,” Law said, voice still so quiet.

“But the scars,” Rosinante pressed.

A beat passed and Law cracked a little smirk. He never smiled much as a child and Rosinante could see that didn’t change much as an adult.

“Cora,” he said. “It’s fine. They’re like dust specks.”

You know what? Rosinante didn’t care anymore. Call him a dumbass or a sap or whatever. It was fine with him. But the tears flooded his vision until he was a crying _mess_. He put a fist to his mouth and did his best to choke back the sobs.

Thirteen long years of witness protection, living in shitty apartment after shitty apartment, reliving endless nightmares about his brother. He grieved and shouted and cried. He worked tirelessly with the FBI to formulate a plan to stop Doffy. He thought about Law and Minion Island. Hoped like hell that somewhere out there, Trafalgar Law would be alive and healthy and living life as best he could.

And he was. Against all odds he was.

“Right,” he whispered between little gasps. “Dust specks.”

Despite the fogginess of his vision, he could see Law smirk again.

“Still a sap after all these years I see,” he pointed out.

Rosinante couldn’t even argue with him. He was the one who crying like a goddamn baby in the middle of an empty courtroom. Who was he to deny such an allegation?

“And you’re still a brat,” Rosinante choked out.

There was a chorus of chuckles around him, likely from Sengoku and Garp. Rosinante blinked the tears from his eyes until Law was clearly in focus. He rubbed the bottom of his chin in thought but still wore that little smirk.

“Thanks, Cora,” he said.

“For what?” Rosinante asked.

Law shrugged and responded with an all too casual, “for everything.”

He really was just trying to make Rosinante cry at this point, wasn’t he? Well Rosinante wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction twice.

He cracked a grin, the widest and most obnoxious one he could manage.

“Come here, ya brat.”

He slung an arm around Law’s neck and placed him in a loose headlock to muss his hair. Law shouted at him the same way he did as a child and Rosinante laughed, refusing to loosen his hold on the kid.

He’d do it all over again if he had to. He’d suffer through the rain, nightmares, and dust specks if it got him to this point. He’d suffer through witness protection and live testimony fifty times over just to get to that exact moment.

Alive and with Law.

And free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Drop any and all feedback with a comment please and thank you!
> 
> Thanks for reading(:


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